By Avellina Balestri
(Dedicated to my friend Hossein Bahrami, who allowed me an intimate glimpse into his pilgrimage to Karbala through livestream.)
Everything is shimmering
In the shrines of the slain
Starlit crystal, capturing song
And the moan of the mourners
Fermented, yet fresh
Like the River of Wine
That flows beside the Milk,
Passion and Purity
Drained to the last drop
Here, the water-bearer rests
Beyond the glinting grate
And there, his Kin-Commander,
Between the two, a bridge –
People to the left and right,
Tea is poured, and bread broken
And we are in the middle
At the center of sacredness
The blood has run golden
Like the sands of slaughter
And the Dome of defeat
Still voicing victory
Brazen, ‘neath Iraq’s moon
Light upon Light
Splendor upon Splendor
Piercing the armored night
And it asks the heavens:
“Where is Yazid?
And where is Abbas?
And where is Hussain?”
Ask the people, and their God
And this will be your answer:
“Follow the path of the pilgrims
And they will show you who is dead
And who is alive.”