By: Dr. Hassan Najafi

Vain Human kind, a tyrannical race
Full of follies, who can trace,

Why the Imam should prematurely die
So was the pleasure of a tyrant as we descry.

In rage of heart, ruin in hand, with no fears
Mamoun poisons the Prophet's 8th Heir, amid Zahra's tears.

Ruin spreads on the earth all around
Every breathing soul, wild and mild, in tears drown,

Clouds of grief blot the sun
Tyrants; cease, your job is done.

How bright this morning’s opening ray!
Ah! Mamoun turned it into a fatal day.

Each melting sigh, each tender tear
Curses the tyrant, the victim to all is dear.

The every strain his smiles and graces own
The Imam felt in a far off land alone.

In life’s last hours with horror of the dead
The Imam is serene and without the least dread,

Unawed by power, unappalled by fear
With honest loyalty he held the Mission dear.

To you I obey, to you heaven offers obeisance,
At death you came, your visit is paradise's presence

O Imam; no way left but only you I page
Save me from infamy in my sinking age.

Source: kayhanintl