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Min sorg

1400 years ago. A band, a lucky and glorious band of men and women, made a stance on a dry desert called Kerbala. They had come to the land between the two rivers, to meet their fate. Men, women and children, stood there, with their God, with their religion with their Imam, not leaving him. not betraying him, giving their limbs, their lives, their tears, for him and for islam.

There they stood, on their own, calling out to the world- We are the last supporters of Hussaina.

Their plead was not heard. Their cries were not observed. Until, the battle, the slaugther, the meeting with fate, was over.

Their sacrifice, saved the world. Their sacrifice saved islam. Their death, gave birth to a nation. A nation that would cry, and weep over their destiny.

The smallest was 6 months, and he met his fate with a an arrow through his throat.

There they fell, there they died, there, thristy in the scorching iraqi heat.

They gave their lives, but they gave us our religion back.

Salam from me, and the millions oh Mawlay. Alone in the desert, no father or mother to cry over you. No grandfather to hold you.
Those lips the Prophet kissed, now the Ommayyids used to taunt and hit…Salam we Alef Salam on those lucky ones, those lucky few, those Ansaar Ahlul Bayt


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