I swear by the Creator of the heavens and the earth,  
And by what Gabriel brought of revelation and verses,  
I proclaim with honor until the Day of Resurrection,  
I will taste death with dignity, but never will I bow to humiliation.  

Even if the bloodthirsty dagger cuts off my head,  
Even if the sword splits my heart in this bloody battlefield,  
Even if the barbed arrow takes water instead of milk from the lips of my newborn,  
Even if the tyrant's blow shatters my brother and breaks my back,  
I am the slain of tears, the captive of sorrows,  
Shall my griefs of Karbala be written with ink and quill?  
Never, for sorrow is only written with flowing tears.  

Even if from all four sides the enemy strikes my wounded heart with arrows,  
Even if sword strikes rain upon my shoulders, body, and limbs,  
Even if stones cause my radiant face to be drenched in blood,  
Even if the enemy gives fire instead of water in their malice,  
Even if I burn from grief and die a hundred deaths,  
They oppressed me, they killed me, forgetting who I am.  
My homeland became the land of pain and agony,  
All the sorrows that passed over the universe, passed here too.  

By the God who wills to see me with a body pierced a hundred times,  
With wounds from spears and swords striking my flesh,  
I shall not extend my hand to the tyrant nor will I accept humiliation,  
Even if all the people of the earth and the heavens come to war against me.  

I am the one who has never broken nor betrayed the covenant of Ali,  
By God, I will worship none but God,  
By God, I am the son of the Lion of God and the son of Fatima.  
An Arab, an Alawite, a Qurayshite by lineage,  
A warrior of Badr, an inheritor of the Fatimid moon.  
I give all that I have, along with my seventy companions, for the path of the Beloved.  
I am the one who goes forward with red cheeks and bloodied throat,  
I am the one with the thirsting neck,  
I am the one bearing the grief of the young, the one in the desert sands,  
I am the beloved of the Guide, lonely in Karbala, deprived and dust-covered.  
I taste death thirsty—who will protect me now? And my beard is dyed with blood.

I am the one with severed veins, I am the one with a torn heart,  
I am the one with a small child, the one with an infant child,  
I am the one with captives bound, I am the one with the Living Revelation.  
Is God worshiped on this earth by anyone like me?  
For I am the prayer-niche where the sword now prays.  
Why is my child slain and all my family taken captive?  
Why is my throat cut while I die thirsty, beside the river’s flow?

I am the one with countless wounds, the one with the verse of the Qur’an,  
I am the one with the tormenting tongues, the one with the sharp spears.  
Let all come and see my rank, my honor, and the dignity I possess.

Here, all witness what has befallen me,  
Would the chosen Prophet be content to see Hussain touched by the nails of oppressors?

By God, by His Messenger, by Ali, the son of Abu Talib, and by the Pure Fatima,  
And by my brother, the virtuous warrior of warriors.  
How can my brother bear it if he sees the horses trample upon my chest?  
With my seventy companions, with Habib, with Zuhair, with Tirmah,  
And with John and the pure-hearted Wahab,  
With the majesty and honor of Abbas and Abis,  
With Uthman and Ja'far, the martyrs from the line of Aqil,  
With the sincerity of Abdullah and Qasim,  
With the grief of Ali Akbar, with the blood of Ali Asghar.

The moon beats its chest over my body,  
Crying with hands raised,  
With tears flowing like silver,  
Calling out in lamentation,  
With a heart broken, "O my support, O my beloved, O my Hussain."

By the flower of Medina, by Ruqayyah, by Sakina,  
By the heartbroken Zainab the Great,  
And her two martyred sons.  
By the thirsty lips of my young children,  
By my exhausted beloved, Zayn al-Abidin,  
I will never flee from this oppressor's army.  
I will not pledge allegiance and will fight the tyrant,  
My head upon a spear will walk the path of God, speaking with friends,  
Becoming a target for stones and struck by arrows,  
By God, I see nothing but God.

By the Arab Prophet and the Messenger of Medina,  
And his brother, the Lion of God named Ali, and by the Pure Zahra,  
By her mother and her sons, those pure, virtuous ones,  
By Zayn al-Abidin, al-Baqir, al-Sadiq in truth,  
And by Musa, by Ali, the virtuous and the pure,  
By al-Askari and the Mahdi, the one who strikes with the eternal sword,  
By Muhammad, by Muhammad, by Ali, by Ali.

The opppressed Hussain, my beloved 
The opppressed Hussain, my beloved