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~

The Victor

This mighty warrior stands,

Shaking like a leaf in the autumn winds,

Humbled and begging on his prayer mat.

His raised hands have asked of no man,

For he sees none worthy of completing his needs,

And turns to Him who is Able.

Every act on the battlefield,

Every moment, accounted for and successful,

And the earth is humbled to him.

The creatures are drawn to him,

Like bees to nectar,

By the fragrance of his ways; and

Perfuming the sin-stenched paths of life,

Lighting them, and giving hope.

He loves and cares for fellow man,

For he serves God,

As only a free man can.

No reward entices him to worship,

Nor do any threats compel him to bow.

His eye has been opened in realization,

Of his insignificance,

And the majesty of the Lord.

Thus he seeks Him, for He is worthy.

He is far sighted, seeing the next world.

Living a simple life, not attracted,

Not enticed by the allure and pomp of this world.

He enjoys the company of the honest,

And is just to all, both friend and foe.

When he is killed, his companions miss him,

With the missing of a mother,

Whose child is slain in her lap.

When he roars, ignominy trembles

For it senses the approaching end.

With his glance,

Falsehood is defeated, brought to its knees.

And when he speaks,

It is mortally wounded, dead and silent.

Then when he acts,

The grave of falsehood vanishes,

No tombstone to mark its once assured existence.

Battling the mighty beast,

The ferocious flame of his desire,

He draws his sword of submission,

From its sheath of obedience,

And strikes desire through the heart.

Killing his self a thousand times,

And then once more,

Till it is vanquished,

And truth emerges victorious.

He is a victor,

A loyal follower of the lion of God.

A Flower is Born

On that day a heavenly delegation descended to the house of Rasul and Khadijah,

With a rose from heaven - a gift for their dedication to the religion,

A child whose praiseworthy qualities would be mentioned constantly by the creatures,

One whose pleasure would earn the source the blessings of Allah,

And whose displeasure would earn its source His wrath,

Our source of hope, the lady of matchless faith and features,

The noble Batoul, for Imam Ali the only worthy match,

For whose hand in marriage, the Quraysh would treasures fetch.

She, who was destined to be the mother of the Hasanayn,

The lady of the family which remains faithful to Allah in all the tests,

The mistress of the ladies of the heavens and the earth,

The one whose aura lit up the heavens when she prayed,

A radiant lady of light, a daughter of noble birth and upbringing,

A book of lessons in true submission and piety,

The scented path leading to the ark of salvation and felicity,

For all believers, the epitome of modesty and chastity,

And for all ladies - a role model for their societal duties.

Four worthy ladies from heaven did descend,

To help bring this child whose position with Allah is praised,

The mother of all, Hawa, whose children through Zahra would be saved, and

Um Kulthum, Musa (as)’s sister who braved the Pharaoh’s scrutiny,

Accompanied by lady Maryam, the mother of Prophet Isa’ the anointed,

With Aasiyah - the strong believer - from heaven were appointed.

Amidst a shower of blessings and salutations from the heavens,

The time has come to give the Prophet congratulations,

And Satan groans as his well laid evil plans are torn,

For the heavenly princess, gracious Zahra has been born.

 

-Shahida-

Radiant Birth

When she was born, the angels descended in a shower of heavenly blessings,
This is the radiant lady of light about whom Allah sent to the Prophet glad tidings.

The sprouting of a heavenly seed meant to ease the Prophet’s sorrow,
A pure, goodly child - a lesson of piety for the people of tomorrow.

Four noble ladies are appointed from heaven to assist and witness her arrival,
The beautiful Kawthar through whom the Prophet’s lineage was granted survival.

Not by her father’s name, the baby born is a mistress in her own right,
Who has earned a special position and proximity in Allah’s sight.

The gracious Zahra whose heavenly fragrance humbles that of all flowers,
And for whose sake the inhabitants of earth are sent blessings in showers.

All those who will love them are ensured His salvation,
Such is the result of Fatimah and her family’s dedication.

At her birth, Satan is distraught and plans new means of discord,
This lady Batoul is a means of safety and closeness to the Lord.

Lady Fatimah wa abeeha wa ba’liha wa baneeha are the purified family,
With the news of whose blessed station the believers speak happily.

When she was born, the angels her praises did sing,
O believers today, with joy let your hearts ring!

The inhabitants of the heavens are flooded by her radiant light,
When the pure lady stands humbled in prayer through the night.

On this day O believers stand up and send salutations to Imam Ali’s wife,
The child who was born is the princess for whom you would sacrifice your life!

-Shahida