Ashura in Climax

 Ashura Climax

The Last Morning

The tents they rose with the sun's first light,

Husayn called for his, a private sight.

And in it, a basin, filled with musk so deep,

A caustic paste, his ready skin to keep.

He entered then, to cleanse himself, so grand.

Outside, at the tent's mouth, a watchful band,

Birir ibn Khudayr, and Abd al-Rahman,

They waited their turn, to follow the plan.

Birir, though, laughed, a sound so clear,

Unfitting the hour, dispelling all fear.

"Why laughter, Birir?" Abd al-Rahman then ask,

"This is no time for idle mirth, a task."

And Birir: "My people know I am no lover,

Of the idle, old or young, no idle rover.

No, this is joy, for what awaits us true,

By God, it is but a moment with swords, then through,

To the embrace of wide-eyed houris, so fair."

I talk with joy of Paradise to dare.

The Night Before

Ali, Zain ul Abidin did say

If you pay the heed you may.

I sat that night, the one now gone,

Before my father's killing day, till dawn.

Zaynab, near, her tender hand,

Tending to my sickness, in this land.

My father, apart, in his own tent, alone.

With him, the servant of Abu Dharr, his own,

Working his sword, honing it with care.

And my father spoke, a lament in the air:

"O Time, what a friend you are, so grim,

How many mornings and evenings, from limb to limb,

Have you claimed, a companion, a seeker, so fast,

Slain. And Time, content with no substitute, built to last.

The matter belongs to the Majestic, vast and deep.

And every living soul walks my path, to sleep."

He spoke it twice, or thrice, until it was plain,

Until I understood, knew his intent, his pain.

Tears caught in my throat, choked back, unseen.

I held my silence, knew the affliction had been,

Had descended, a shadow, dark and profound.

My aunt, she heard what I heard, the sorrowful sound.

A woman, her nature, so gentle and mild,

Tenderness and terror, like a frightened child.

She could not contain herself, her spirit rent.

She rose, pulling her garment, bareheaded she went,

Until she reached him, with a mournful cry.

"Oh, my grief!" she cried, beneath the sky!

"Would that death had stolen me today, right here!

My mother, Fatima, is dead today, my dear.

My father, Ali. My brother, Hassan, gone too soon.

O heir of those departed, beneath the moon,

Sustainer of those who remain, so brave!"

Husayn looked at her, his eyes a watery wave,

His eyes brimming, "My sister, do not allow,

Let not the devil steal your calm, right now."

And then, the quiet lament, a mournful sigh:

"If the sandgrouse were left at night, it would sleep, not cry."

"Woe is me!" she cried again, with a mournful plea.

"Will your soul be seized by force?" this pierced me.

This, it pierced my heart, a searing flame,

It weighted my very being, in sorrow and shame.

Then she struck her face, with a sound so grim,

Tore at her garment, limb by limb,

And fell, unconscious, a silent fall.

Husayn rose, poured water, hearing her call,

Upon her face. "My sister," he said, so kind,

"Fear God. Seek solace in God's solace, you'll find.

Know that the people of the earth die, so brief,

And the people of heaven do not remain, no relief.

Everything perishes except the face of God, so true,

Who created by His power, me and you,

Who resurrects, and to whom all return, so deep.

He is One, alone, His promises to keep.

My father is better than I, his spirit bright.

My mother is better than I, a guiding light.

My brother is better than I, a noble soul.

And for me, and every Muslim, making us whole,

In the Messenger of God is an example, to see."

He consoled her thus, so tenderly.

"My sister, I swear upon you, fulfill my oath,

Do not tear your garment for me, nor show your wrath.

Do not scratch your face for me, in sorrow's tide.

Do not cry out in woe and perdition for me, do not hide,

When I perish," he said, with a final plea.

Then he brought her to me, seated her near me.

He went to his companions, their fate now known,

Commanding them to tie their tents together, sown,

To interlace their ropes, a barrier strong,

To stand between the tents, where they belong,

To meet the enemy from one direction, bold,

The tents at their backs, right, and left, a story untold,

Surrounding them, save the path, now clear,

From which the enemy would come, bringing fear.

And he returned to his place, his spirit meek,

Spent the night in prayer, forgiveness to seek,

Supplicating, humbling himself, with a sigh.

His companions, too, prayed, to the heavens high,

Supplicated, sought forgiveness, till the night was done.

The Vision

At dawn, Husayn slumbered, a brief nod then woke,

"Do you know what I saw in my dream?" he spoke.

"What, son of the Messenger of God?" they asked him low.

"I saw dogs, as if they charged me, a fearful show,

To tear at me. Among them, a mottled dog, so wild,

The fiercest. I think the one who will kill me, undefiled,

Is a leprous man among them, a sight so grim.

Then I saw my grandfather, his light never dim,

The Messenger of God, with a group of his men.

He said to me, 'My son, you are the martyr, then,

Of the Family of Muhammad, so pure and bright.

The dwellers of the heavens, and of the highest firmament, with all their might,

Rejoice for you. Let your breaking of fast, so near,

Be with me tonight. Hasten, do not delay, no fear.

This is an angel descended from heaven, from high,

To take your blood in a green vial, beneath the sky.'

This is what I saw. The hour draws near, so fast,

The departure from this world is close, meant to last,

There is no doubt," he said, his voice profound.

The Enemy Approaches

Then Dhahhak ibn Abd Allah said, as the day broke,

Horsemen of Ibn Sa'd passed us, guarding, they spoke.

And Husayn recited, with a solemn tone:

"And let not those who disbelieve, standing alone,

Think that Our deferring of punishment, so vast,

To them is good for them. We only defer it, to last,

For them that they may increase in sin, a wicked way,

And for them is a humiliating torment, on that day.

Allah would not leave the believers, in what you've seen,

In that [state] which you are in, so mean,

Until He separates the wicked from the good, so clear."

A man from those horsemen heard, with a mocking cheer,

Abd Allah ibn Sumair, known for laughter, so bold,

A brave and noble knight, a killer, a story told.

He said: "By the Lord, we are the good, it's plain,

Distinguished from you," he said with disdain.

Birir ibn Khudayr answered, his voice strong and true,

"O wicked one, God makes you among the good, it's new?"

"Who are you, woe to you?" he cried with might.

"I am Birir ibn Khudayr," in the fading light.

They cursed each other, their anger so deep.

The Battle Lines

Husayn rose at dawn, after prayer, so keen,

Arranged his companions, a determined scene.

Thirty-two horsemen, ready for the fray,

Forty foot soldiers, come what may.

(Another account: eighty-two foot soldiers stood.

And from al-Baqir: forty-five horsemen, misunderstood,

One hundred foot soldiers, a valiant band.)

Zuhayr ibn al-Qayn on the right flank, his command,

Habib ibn Mazahir on the left, so brave.

He gave his banner to his brother, Abbas, to save.

The tents at their backs, a shield from harm.

He ordered wood and reeds, to quell alarm,

From behind the tents, to be thrown in the trench dug there,

And set alight, lest they be attacked from behind, no fear.

Umar ibn Sa'd, too, rose that day, so dire,

Friday, some say Saturday, fueled by fire.

He arrayed his men, a fearsome sight,

Marched with them toward Husayn, with all his might.

Amr ibn al-Hajjaj on his right, so stern,

Shimr ibn Dhi al-Jawshan on his left, to learn.

On the cavalry, Urwah ibn Qays, so evil grand.

On the infantry, Shabath ibn Rib'i, at his command.

He gave the banner to Durayd, his freedman, so free.

More than twenty-two thousand, it is said, to see.

From al-Sadiq: thirty thousand, a mighty throng.

Husayn's Prayer

When the cavalry advanced toward Husayn, with a shout,

He raised his hands and said, without a doubt:

"O God, You are my trust in every sorrow deep,

My hope in every hardship, promises to keep.

And for me, in every matter that befalls me, true,

You are a trust and a provision, in all I do.

How many sorrows weaken the heart, so slight,

And..."