Dedicated to my Shia Muslim friend, Hossein Bahrami, who offered me an intimate glimpse into his pilgrimage to Karbala, Iraq 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

For the desert to drink.

~

Here, the water-bearer rests

Beyond the glinting grate,

And there, his Kin-Commander,

Whose revolution still rallies.

Between the two, a bridge—

People to the left and right,

Drawn by searing memories

Of red sands.

~

Tea is poured, and bread broken,

Strangers sharing sustenance

And lamentations.

We stand in the middle,

At the center of this sacredness.

The monument is golden,

Like the dawn of the slaughter,

With the Dome of defeat

Still voicing victory,

Brazen beneath 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.”