Bismillah...
Salam Alaykom
This poem was written in honour of the blessed wilada occasions of our Masters Ameerul Mu’mineen Imam Ali (as), Sayed Shohada Imam al Hussain (as) and Abu Fadhl Abbas (as). Coinciding with the Arab spring, I attempted to draw parallels between the two themes and this is what I came up with.
Salam Alaykom
This poem was written in honour of the blessed wilada occasions of our Masters Ameerul Mu’mineen Imam Ali (as), Sayed Shohada Imam al Hussain (as) and Abu Fadhl Abbas (as). Coinciding with the Arab spring, I attempted to draw parallels between the two themes and this is what I came up with.
I thought it was pretty decent considering I’d just recovered from a one-year writer’s block, had a deadline, and finished it at 3am. However, reading it now after 7 months, there are definitely some gaps which need to be filled. Meh. I hope you enjoy reading it, let me know what you think :-)
Days like these disclose mysteries of the heart.
They seek to rekindle dormant flames, illuminating the shadows that surround our hearts.
Intellect of man is forced to wonder, why the glorious sun shys away behind clouds so tender.
Or why the moon veils its beauty in silken black?
Listen, as zephyrs congregate in their remembrance.
Listen as they recite a ballad of the ages, presented through golden scriptures and pages.
A time in shackles, it silently yearned for a new dawn, a truth.
The Kaba split, the birth of truth.
The sun emerged as if God’s own Noor has descended from the heavens to the earth.
The Prophet’s eyes glistened as he handled his brother, a protector and friend, for mankind a lover.
Ya Ali... The one who cradled the religion in his arms, at Khaybar who threatened to split the world in half.
Ya Haidar... Words would drown and sentences would diminish into the ink of this world, describing your essence.
Your valour, your class, could only be transcribed into the hands of Abbas.
That Hashimite moon, that glistens in the sky.
Nay! It glistens in the pupils of every lover’s eye.
The one who steers our floating dreams.
Set your heart sail in the sea of Abbas.
Let his name govern your speech.
Ya Bab al Hawaij! You are the station no one could reach.
He reflected Asadullah in the shine of Dhulfiqar.
Yet no individual was able to outshine this Alamdaar.
The embodiment of faith, to whom faith pays allegiance.
No leaf has quivered nor constellations formed without the consent of Abbas and ofcourse, our Lady of light, Fatima al Zahra.
Without whom we would not have been.
This entire universe and everything within.
When the Lord said, “Kun”, and it was.
A loyal warrior, an illustration of beauty.
Abbas reminisces.
He cannot remain calm, but who can extinguish the fiery flames of this lion’s heart?
A voice calls out “brother!” and he replys, “Master!”
It is none other than his beloved Hussain.
Now cast your minds to a revolution of eternity as we sit in the examination of this world.
No man, no jinn, no realm of time.
From apparent dimensions to hidden designs will ever comprehend the greatness of Hussain.
This love, this light, the Ark of Salvation.
A lighthouse for some, for some a destination.
A king who sacrificed everything he had.
From his glossy gem sons to rose daughters so delicate, to uphold the identity of Islam.
In all suffering envisioned nothing but beauty.
Constructed a University of Justice within hours, taught how to stand firm in the face of wrong...
And so chants are echoed from street to square.
White fist are raised high in the air.
Hussain is their crown and they do not look back, whether they are faced with bullets and deadly attacks.
Allah is the goal and surely they return...Allah is the goal and surely they return...
This land is only for a day or two and all its processions will crumble to dust.
Ruthless tyrants indulged in worldly lusts.
Justice will prevail in the hands of the One.
Al Hujjah, Al Qa’im, the final rising sun.
From Falasteen to Bahrain, flags will flutter, freedom will cheer and jealousy will mutter, but God’s promise will be fulfilled.
Ask me about revolutions and I will say: no words can describe the tragedy of genocide.
I never held a mother while she mourned over the corpse of her son, or consoled a sister as she gazed with lifeless eyes.
Ask me about revolutions and I will say: even silence is a crime.
Afreen Sajjad - 9/7/11
