Quenched at Last

Many sons have been born, but none like this one,

Whose bravery and loyalty shines as bright as the sun.

On that day, the son of a brave lion, of Bani Hashim, the moon,

Sets out to fetch the children water, relief is coming soon.

He charges through the ranks, slicing them like butter,

With fear and cowardice, the enemy hearts flutter.

To bring him down, they must cheat, oppress and lie,

And the assault begins with the arrow shot into his eye.

Two deathly strikes to my heart when they cut off his hands,

Two blows to my soul, as he lay bleeding on the desert sands.

The flag that was held high, now comes to half mast,

As they plot and plan how to finish this dauntless lion fast.

The blood gushes from his wounds in immeasurable pain,

Yet his mission remains to quench the children of Hussain.

They then pierce the water skin, that carried hope and water,

Determined to persist in their animalistic slaughter.

“Ya Sayyidi, Ya Imami!” a call to the brother and master,

A last wish to be granted as his life drained out faster.

Don’t take me back to camp as I have failed to quench the thirsty hopes,

And the children will not be able to bear the sight of my corpse.

The weight of my body I will not make you carry and bear,

When there is none with whom your burdens you can share.

The time has come, my brother, let me lie on the sand,

I know you have none left to assist you from your faithful band.

Please wipe my eye, as I cannot see you through this blood,

The arrow that pierced one eye caused the other to flood.

Allow me the pleasure of gazing once more upon your face,

Let me see the one whose love they cannot erase.

Abbaas, fulfill one more wish O noble son of my father,

Today for once, don’t call me master, simply ‘Brother’.

Like the cooing at sunset of a gentle and beautiful dove,

With his last breath, he fulfills one more wish for his love.

From Allah we are, and to Him we must surely return,

Your killers have been promised in eternal hell to burn.   

     

Ah! I have lost my support and my backbone,

All day you were by my side, now I am alone.

The shores of the Euphrates with your blood are drenched;

O Saaqi of the thirsty, at Kawthar you have been quenched…

-S-

Count (II)

Will you count the brave sons, who on that day were felled;

Or those who stood witness as the sisters were unveiled?

How many times did the empty cradle swing before it went mute;

And the scavenging animals, disguised as men, carried it for loot?

For how long did the children's cries of 'Uncle!' 'Uncle' go

Before they realised uncle was not coming back from the shore?

'Abbaas kneels at the shore, weakened by war and thirst,

Then empties his cupped hand at the thought of being quenched first.

Sukayna asked the way to Najaf, the burial place of Allah's friend,

To tell him of her pain and grief, which no one else could mend.

The birds fell out of the skies in their blinding sorrow,

Oh the calamity, the atrocities to be done on the morrow!

Ali Akbar, the comfort of the mothers has been slain,

Now the vandals clamor and call for the blood of Husain.

Hurr, the faithful slave from his debt has been freed,

As the last breaths of life from his gaping wounds bleed.

As-Sajjaad can barely walk, yet no one takes pity,

And he is dragged in chains, all the way to yazid's city.

O Believer! The true men of God on this earth are numbered,

At the call of Husain, did you awake or remain those who slumbered?

'Husain was martyred and his blood spelt it out for all times: Allah is One!

Thus we hold to the path, and wait for him at whose hand justice will be done.

~S~

Play

What if when it all ended, I was wrong?
I was told it was right -
this is the truth
the way of those before you.

Amidst my prayers, I searched
the labyrinth, ever-growing
So I walked towards the horizon
No sign, had He.

In my self realisation I've stopped -
Does it mean as much as you tell me it does?
My felicity is being toyed with
and I question the abyss that possibly awaits me

For now, let me be
But I wonder, amidst my dances of happiness
That laugh I heard, the warmth I felt -
Was it you all along?

However I may have been -
Embrace me with your warmth
or burn me with your wrath
I am as carefree as the one who misguides me.

I am ready.

~ F

The Injustice Of The Pens

History has recorded many atrocities,
Injustices and killings, the open war against truth.
Few stand out like this against one man,
Who dedicated his life to support Rasul.
The one whom the Prophet referred to as ‘Father!’
The father of Ali, a man like no other.

Despite the proofs of his unshakeable faith,
And the numerous evidences of the God he worshipped;
Despite his constant acknowledgement of his nephew as Prophet,
The divinely appointed guide and leader of mankind;
Despite his love and poetry of praise for Muhammad,
Which leave the reader no choice but to acknowledge his submission;
Yet they deny his faith, and call him an open disbeliever.

Only a man of true belief could have raised three lions,
Whose actions and bravery charted the course of history:
Muhammad his nephew; Ali and Ja’far his sons
Do they not know the religious rulings on inheritance?
For they claim he died a disbeliever,
Yet acknowledge he was inherited by two believers!
How do they summon the audacity to deny him his right
Nay, deny him completely; and say with a sagely air:
Oh what a loss to have protected Rasul in this life
Then end in the hell fire in the next!

For what purpose did the pens wish to slay him
And commit an injustice to lady Fatima bint Asad
Making a believing woman the wife of a disbeliever?
One would need to look at the trends of the time,
And realize at whom this hate and slander was directed
Unable to obliterate the radiant praise of Ali’s faith
Spelt out in the Qur’an and the words of the Prophet,
They chose instead to vilify his father,
Then they could say: the [pious] son of a disbeliever!

By God, though your pens wish to strike and inflict pain
And cause to tears to Rasul and his brother Ali,
We will declare our love for the oppressed believer Abu Talib,
Whose oppression continues long after he has died.


S.A

Remorse

A cold shiver suspends my back
and numbs my body into a state
One that I have savored before;
it's back to haunt and expose me.

It makes its way up and around
reminding every part of my being;
what I have done and what I have not
and wraps me around its fingers.

A loving enmity grows on exponential
filling my veins with guilt and pride
The sudden, perverse heart beat
thumps in rhythm with my nostalgic thoughts.

Should a tear fall down my cheek -
What then will that make of me?
This blissful pain, well deserved
is mine, no one elses.

I cherish and harbor the pain
revealing itself on pursed lips
Ignorant and aware, living in vain
is my state after every immoral sin.
 

It is impossible to remove their love...

Every now and then you'll see one of those videos that truly take your breath away - and it was this very video that crowned the list of all time favourites for me. Absolutely beautiful poetry, and it brought me to tears. Peace be upon you, forever and always Ya Abaa Abdillaah, and may Allah (swt) keep your love thriving in our hearts and may He, by his grace, grant us all the chance to visit Karbalaa.

~ Fatima.

When Death Comes

Death is a time of reunion,
and a time of parting.
Reunion with the One, 
reunion with the store of deeds you earned
and the parting from all that you held dear in this world.
Your wealth will not buy you a warm bed,
nor get you a helper in your grave.
No sobbing child will take your place,
nor loving spouse to replace you in your tomb.
They can only cry, then let you be,
leaving you to your fate.
Glad are those who made a friend of the Friend,
for His friendship is lasting,
and when all others will leave you,
He will comfort you in your loneliness.

When death comes,
it needs no permission.
The soul has had its time,
and now it makes its exit.
Death needs neither disease, 
nor age or reason for its certainty.
Indeed, that you live today
is a sign of your impending death,
every breath taking you a step closer to your grave.

When death comes,
the body you fed and nourished is abandoned,
its beauty and splendour appreciated only by the worms 
... who feed hungrily on it ...
The soul you starved and left to rust is now born,
crippled and malnourished,
disoriented and lost, for it was not taught or trained,
it was blinded to the day of its return.

When death comes,
your Lord has beckoned,
and this time,
even if you always turned away,
this time you must go.

Ya Zainab

The sun is setting, ya Zainab
do you remember?
Just like Karbalaa
the sky is weeping, again..

It feels your pain, ya Zainab
and cries in unison with you
but no
no..
Under this red sky you have no true abode
and you are ultimately alone.

Tell me about your sufferings, ya Zainab
Is that Aun and Mohammad's empty mattress?
Tell me, what did they do to you?
Show me the face they beat, ya Zainab
and the tears they induced.

What is that you are hearing, ya Zainab?
The echo of Sakinah's desperate cry?
No, Zainab, no
She is gone too.

Is that Husayn's smiling face you see?
No no
It's the brother that your grandfather wept over, as he was born.

Where will you go, ya Zainab?
Rasool is gone, long gone
and Sajjaad is broken in body and soul.

Run into the desert
run, ya Zainab
and cry like you never have before
Cry so that the fountain of rage and hurt escapes you, ya Zainab
My lady, what has happened?
Why do you feel shame?
Cry so that even the headless body of Husayn hears you
Cry so that if Abbaas had hands, he would raise them in supplication for you.
Cry so that Rasool feels the pain as he rests in Madinah

My lady, she has come to comfort you
Can you see her in the distance?
This is what you need, ya Zainab
Go and embrace her arms
and tell her your sufferings
Embrace her, ya Zainab
for she has come to you at last.

~Fatima~

Aliyyun Ameeri

How will he not form the basis of criterion,
Between faith and hypocrisy;
When it is he,
For whom the Kaabah split open its walls
in recognition of his approach,
and the sun retraced its steps
to allow him time to pray?
As a lad of ten, he declared his support for Rasul,
and became as Aaron was to Moses.
The victorious lion of Allah,
Whose sword dispensed only justice.
The instrumental son of Islam,
who swept the idols off their perches -
when the Kaabah was freed.

The mark of this prince is upon his forehead,
the mark of the earth.
When he entered salah, he died in the world,
yet remained a servant of the creatures of Allah.
Alive to and responding to their calls of distress,
even as he bowed down in prayer.

No ink can describe, or words capture,
the essence of one whose devotion is praised in the heavens.
One can only strive to love him,
in his heart, his words and his deeds;
For this is he,
who has found Allah to be exactly as he would wish,
and strove to be,
and became,
as Allah would wish.

What will the follower say, when asked of this man,
whoencompassed the manifestation
of all human perfection,
without becoming divine?
What will he explain, when asked of his love,
Except plead:
"May Allah reveal his love to me!"
What then will the believer say, when asked to describe
The brother, successor and supporter of the Prophet.
The one whose face Satan cannot dare look at,
Who has bowed down to none other than Allah
Except whisper his love, with tears in his eyes,
and proclaim to the world:
"Aliyyun Ameeri, wa ni'mal Ameer!"

Unconquered

Every dark and gloomy tunnel you ever walked through will
eventually become sheer radiance and encompassing light
that blinds you and keeps you in oblivion.
Every ruthless being that shot arrows at your heart will eventually become
a figure of inspiration,
and someone who was pure gold.
Every piercing breeze that was harsh to your cheeks
and didn't care about those lips will eventually become the caressing spring breeze
that envelops the couple that embraces amidst the crowd.
Every sordid, dilapidated city street that your feet left a mark on,
eventually turns into a labyrinth of roses,
seducing you as the intoxicating scent tousles every fiber of your being.
Every cynical experience you ever encountered
will eventually prove to be that which stains and marks you for the better,
and plants the seed of optimism within you.
Every disfigured image your eyes laid upon
eventually becomes the most gracious blessing that will place you in ultimate bliss
as you stare in euphoria.
Every fall you painfully experienced
eventually blooms into a series of praise;
numbing you ravenously to the world.
Every tear that ever fell unaccompanied by another touch to caress and wipe it away
eventually turns into a bullet of bravery,
and beamingly places you in the hall of fame of ruthless survival.
Every failure you painstakingly felt at the hands of paper
eventually becomes the poet's ink that journeys over the sea's horizon
and comes back to solace you with its untold tale.
Every cold, livid body that you witnessed on your path will
eventually scream life and bloom like the seedling
after interminable rain.
And every time your head ritually meets the floor and renews its vows with the Divine,
eventually disintegrates the devil in his disheveled abode
and draws you closer to the scent of the Lord
who undeniably embraces the servant at every deed. 

~Fatima~