Alla-Homma So'alle Ala Mohammadin Wa Aale Mohammad.
(O Allah(s.w.t) Bless Mohammed s.a.w.s and his progeny)
(O Allah(s.w.t) Bless us with the love of Hussain a.s
(O Allah(s.w.t) Bless us with the ziarat of Hussain a.s
(O Allah(s.w.t) Bless Mohammed s.a.w.s and his progeny)
(O Allah(s.w.t) Bless us with the love of Hussain a.s
(O Allah(s.w.t) Bless us with the ziarat of Hussain a.s
The greatest martyr of mankind
IMAM HUSSAIN(A.S)
GRANDSON OF PROPHET MUHAMMED(S.A.W.S)
He sacrificed his life for Truth, Justice & Humanity
IMAM HUSSAIN(A.S)
GRANDSON OF PROPHET MUHAMMED(S.A.W.S)
He sacrificed his life for Truth, Justice & Humanity
A HUMBLE REQUEST: PLEASE DO PRAY FOR EARLIEST RESTORATION OF JANNAT AL-BAQI; PROTECTION OF MAUSOLEUM OF SAYYIDAH ZAYNAB BINT ‘ALĪ IBN ABĪ TĀLIB (A.S.) AND SAYYIDAH RUQAYYAH/SAKINA BINT HUSSAIN (A.S.) & EARLY RE-APPEARANCE OF IMAM-E-ZAMANA (ATFS).
The Infant Martyr of Karbala, Ali Asghar(AS)
By: Dr. Hassan Najafi
The infant martyr of Karbala, Ali Asghar, who was killed in the most cruel manner by a three-pronged arrow in the arms of his father, Imam Husain (AS), when the heartless Omayyad hordes were asked to at least provide a drop of water to the thirsty 6-month baby.
The perfect Boast of Time - You,
Heaven’s pride prime - You.
O Martyr! Break out, flash a momentary ray,
A spark of your blood, and vanishes the world in its ray,
You, an infant, don’t have the force of years;
Awake, arise, and see the foes; fears.
Islam is at stake see the sons of the House now
All are Mohammad, no matter in years high or low.
Fired at the arrow-shot, my entity spreads its wings
And flies where Karbala courts eternity’s spring,
When I wish Husain's care my fancy flies
Embosomed in the deep where Ali Asghar lies.
Suspend awhile, O River! Your flow suspend,
Ali Asghar is thirsty, his thirst do attend.
Flows Euphrates murmuring into the deep
Its ebb and flow, its waves still weep.
Enters the sanguine field
A warrior of six months without a shield,
He in the arms of his father because can’t tread
Can’t bear the sun, the gown of father over him spread,
With a withering look
The Infant, the core of father’s cloak took.
Disturbed, delighted, raised and refined
Though on infant, all vivid his glowing mind,
Came the arrow, hurtling and hurled
Sunk in the lap of father the fabric of the world,
Thunder roars and lightening flies
The arrow prior to the throat bursts the skies.
Fierce is the whirlwind howling
Fierce is the tempest rolling
See thirsty Ali Asghar dying.
Mute, confused, sullenly distressed
The three-headed sorrow devastated his breast
With watchful eye and dauntless mien
The star of the House of the Prophet smiles serene
As years increase he brighter shines
His weepers too increase, as each day declines.
How to stop the blood; himself too faint to go,
Now his back bent under the weight such a woe.
This is your Poet awaits long the fate to feast
Lies stretched on earth to kiss your feet.
Fair fancy wept, echoing sighs confest
At this infant Martyr’s pain in every breast,
With grief our pitying eyes overflow
We trace your sad tale, and own year to year your woe.
How the father felt? What he felt? Who knows?
Indeed, it is neither simple nor easy, this everyone knows.
The infant martyr of Karbala, Ali Asghar, who was killed in the most cruel manner by a three-pronged arrow in the arms of his father, Imam Husain (AS), when the heartless Omayyad hordes were asked to at least provide a drop of water to the thirsty 6-month baby.
The perfect Boast of Time - You,
Heaven’s pride prime - You.
O Martyr! Break out, flash a momentary ray,
A spark of your blood, and vanishes the world in its ray,
You, an infant, don’t have the force of years;
Awake, arise, and see the foes; fears.
Islam is at stake see the sons of the House now
All are Mohammad, no matter in years high or low.
Fired at the arrow-shot, my entity spreads its wings
And flies where Karbala courts eternity’s spring,
When I wish Husain's care my fancy flies
Embosomed in the deep where Ali Asghar lies.
Suspend awhile, O River! Your flow suspend,
Ali Asghar is thirsty, his thirst do attend.
Flows Euphrates murmuring into the deep
Its ebb and flow, its waves still weep.
Enters the sanguine field
A warrior of six months without a shield,
He in the arms of his father because can’t tread
Can’t bear the sun, the gown of father over him spread,
With a withering look
The Infant, the core of father’s cloak took.
Disturbed, delighted, raised and refined
Though on infant, all vivid his glowing mind,
Came the arrow, hurtling and hurled
Sunk in the lap of father the fabric of the world,
Thunder roars and lightening flies
The arrow prior to the throat bursts the skies.
Fierce is the whirlwind howling
Fierce is the tempest rolling
See thirsty Ali Asghar dying.
Mute, confused, sullenly distressed
The three-headed sorrow devastated his breast
With watchful eye and dauntless mien
The star of the House of the Prophet smiles serene
As years increase he brighter shines
His weepers too increase, as each day declines.
How to stop the blood; himself too faint to go,
Now his back bent under the weight such a woe.
This is your Poet awaits long the fate to feast
Lies stretched on earth to kiss your feet.
Fair fancy wept, echoing sighs confest
At this infant Martyr’s pain in every breast,
With grief our pitying eyes overflow
We trace your sad tale, and own year to year your woe.
How the father felt? What he felt? Who knows?
Indeed, it is neither simple nor easy, this everyone knows.
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