Mera Akbar Maar Diya

Alas, Jummah, Akbar Jummah, Kadiyal Jummah
Alas, Jummah, Akbar Jummah, Kadiyal Jummah has been struck by the spear—Hussain's son, hearing this news, was in shock.

Hussain would sometimes fall, sometimes rise, sometimes fall, sometimes rise. He would cry out, saying:
Hussain, crying, "They killed my Akbar, they killed my Akbar."

He would get up again, and again he would say:
Hussain, crying, "They killed my Akbar, they killed my Akbar."

Who will I lift the body?
Alas, on my shoulders, they killed my Akbar, they killed my Akbar.

He would get up again, and again he would say:
Hussain, crying, "They killed my Akbar, they killed my Akbar."

The separation from my son took away the sight from my eyes, and I felt as though a mother was crashing against the tents' walls.

When the father called out, he collided with the bodies in the battlefield, crying,
"They killed my Akbar, they killed my Akbar."

He would get up again, and again he would say:
Hussain, crying, "They killed my Akbar, they killed my Akbar."

The dream of Akbar's marriage died in my heart.
I had planned to make him a groom with my own hands, but now, where is the father's voice? Who will wear the wedding veil on his forehead?
They killed my Akbar, they killed my Akbar.

He would get up again, and again he would say:
Hussain, crying, "They killed my Akbar, they killed my Akbar."

The son I raised with so much care, my Zainab, after the spear, struck this son with swords.

Everyone had to carry him. When I go to the tents with his body, I will say,
"They killed my Akbar, they killed my Akbar."

He would get up again, and again he would say:
Hussain, crying, "They killed my Akbar, they killed my Akbar."

Give me strength, or else, or else, your father too will die.
They tell me, "Your Akbar will never return," showing the spear and laughing. I cry out,
"They killed my Akbar."

Sometimes with the flag, sometimes with the spear.
They killed my Akbar, they killed my Akbar.

As I walk, I say, holding my waist:
Abbas, if you had been here, my Akbar would have still been alive.
First, they killed you, and then those people from Shaam (Syria) killed my Akbar.

Sometimes with the flag, sometimes with the spear.
They killed my Akbar, they killed my Akbar.

When I reached near Akbar, I saw his wounded chest.
The son took his last breath when the spear's tip broke. Shabbir, with tears in his eyes, placed his head on Akbar's wounded chest and said,
"They killed my Akbar."

Sometimes with the flag, sometimes with the spear.
They killed my Akbar, they killed my Akbar.

Zeeshan and Raza, when the letter from the daughter was placed on the chest of the son,
The tears of Shabbir mixed with Akbar's blood.

With the hand that had once drawn the sword, he looked at the letter and said,
"They killed my Akbar."

Sometimes with the flag, sometimes with the spear.
They killed my Akbar, they killed my Akbar.

They killed my Akbar, they killed my Akbar.