By an anonimous poet:

A Journey, a Poem about Karbala

It was peak of the mischief and virtues in chains;

Just laws were sacked with rules insane;

As the tyrants on the rise, and mass confused,

offered lust with lies, and faith abused.

Thus the signs indicated, and time dictated.

Some souls elevated as Hussain navigated;

a seed of the Prophet and the sight of his Parents;

that time in deluge, he was ark so apparent.

In the Name of God, for the sake of Islam;

for the freedom of life and soul of Islam;

gave greatest sacrifice, but not his hands,

with the members of his kin and many of his friends.

Hurr, Muslim and the friends those hearts so pure;

they offered their lives as shield and cure;

thus tyrants came forth from the curtain way old;

then peace was bought and lives were sold.

And daring in the manners were the two young brothers;

in the boldness of their moves were the teachings of a mother;

Shone Aun and Muhammad with the valor known as Haider;

Those children were slain not the feeling of the mother.

With a message from his father was Qasim bin Hassan;

a radiant jewel of Islam was this glowing young son;

but Qasim into pieces with a bride day old;

on the sand in heat it was savage and cold.

Then the pride of the Hashims rode back from the river;

and the tyrants made sure that he did not deliver;

they cut off his arms, but spirit was set;

till an arrow hit the bag, only eyes got wet.

Fell ‘Abbas from the horse, with no hands for support,

then Hussain rushed to shore for a brother's end resort;

those children who waited with the patience were told;

and thirst in the camp was three days old.

Soon Akbar cam down with spear in his chest;

which a father had to pull so severe was the test;

He was image of the Prophet, and the life of Hussain,

He was vision of a mother and the eyes of Hussain

Now the Leader was alone as he called for the help,

then a baby fell down; a response from the crib!

This thirsty, pure, infant was a son of Imam,

Who, acknowledged his father and the call of Imam.

Thus Hussain brought him for some water in the field,

and showed them baby's dried lips and appealed;

but the six months old got an arrow so thick,

that turned him over and tore his neck.

Ali Asghar went to sleep, with his father and no fear;

with the cradle on the fire, and their head on spear;

and the mother's empty hand, with the tear dried eyes,

who looked for the baby to sing lullabies.

And a sister by the camp saw the horror of this trip;

as a knife tore the neck, where the Prophet put his lips;

earth in grief, roared heavens and mourned,

Sand turned red when Hussain was torn.

And a child full of tears with her tiny bleeding ears,

bruises on her face and her thirst so severe;

She ran for her father who laid beheaded,

and cried for the uncle for help she needed;

Sayyida Zainab looked for her in the sadness of that night;

did inquire every soul in the land of the plight;

but Sakina was sleeping on the chest of a body;

with the love of the father, from the fragrance of his body.

Then the camp pushed down, while flames went up;

little children rushed out, as their dresses lit up;

it was night full of cries and the innocent quests;

shattered were the dreams and broken were the nests.

All defenses laid to rest, after trials and the tests;

left to face, one Imam, even history would detest,

who fainted with the illness faced torture and torment;

a Master of the pious and devotees' ornament.

Lashes on his back heavy chains on Imam;

but ladies were the prisoners, was the wound of Imam;

no chador for them but their rope tied arms;

and grief soared high from Kufa to Shaam.

But, the daughter of Ali challenged, miseries with the messages;

with the families in bazaars, and deadly courts of savages;

With the depth of the patience and the Zenith of Bravery;

Islam was rescued for ever from the slavery.