10th Muharam

She was crying out for her brother, there wasn’t anyone to listen; she was unveiled in front of those heartless enemies, there wasn’t anything to cover herself up; she tried to stay strong with tears rolling down her cheeks, there wasn’t anyone to wipe those tears; she was the princess of the best of the kings, there wasn’t anything she was left with…

The lands cried on the bloodshed that took place over it, the winds couldn’t stop swirling for it had seen the worst of actions ever did, the waters sank deep inside itself for it wasn’t available when needed the most, the skies turned dry for it was the day to cry the most. Could it get worse? Could the pain pick more? It was 10th Muharam when the ones martyred became kings of heaven and the ones who thought they won, won the worst fires of hell…

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