The heart mourns for the Mistress of believers Fatima. I mourn for her poisoned father and the one who gave charity with a ring. The endless tears that fall reflect my sorrow for my master Hussein, and for his brother who died on the hands of disbelievers just like his grandfather. My grief is endless for the one who lost his hands at the land of Karbala and for the one who was left alone in a strange land surround with thirsty orphans.
