"The story of this humble being [Sayyid Muhammad Husayn Husayni Tehrani] in the Shrine of Imam Ridha. I, the lowest being, settled in the sanctified city of Mashhad on 26 Jumada al-Thani 1400 (12 May 1980). Before that, I usually used to go to there during the summer, along with all my family and children.… Continue reading flare of the heart
Author: Aqeela
Your life is sometimes a stone in you, and then a star.
chiaroscuro
chiaroscuro (n.)mid 17th century: from Italian, from chiaro ‘clear, bright’ + oscuro ‘dark, obscure’the treatment of light and shade in drawing and painting https://www.youtube.com/embed/7WDYv3RwkXo June 2022 “We're each of us our own chiaroscuro, our own bit of illusion trying to emerge into something solid, something real. We've got to forgive ourselves that. I must remember to forgive myself. Because… Continue reading chiaroscuro
drenched in light
March 11, Qom. I have just returned to the hotel. The others have gone out—the lights are off, the room is dim. My only company is the soft breeze drifting through the window. I have spent the better part of the morning grappling with the trellises of my soul. My brain is tired. My heart,… Continue reading drenched in light
this time
The last time that I stood here, I was twenty-three years old. I can still smell the dusky heat of that auburn summer night. I can still hear the silky silence, punctuated by the frantic thudding of my heart. I can still taste the burn of farewell’s ash lodged inside my throat. I can still… Continue reading this time
invincible summer
untitled
what do you do when words needed don't comewhen the songs that you sing have already been sung—what do you say when the saying tongue breaksin crashing and cliffs and the fracture of waves? where do you go when the pages once hometurn deadened white eyes from gazes unknown—where do you set down the shimmering… Continue reading untitled
the face of God
In the sun’s rising is its setting. In the flower’s blooming is its withering. In the day’s coming is its going, never to be seen again. In each moment, the world shows us the nature of its impermanence. In each moment, it says to us, “There is nothing here that lasts. Not joy, not sorrow.… Continue reading the face of God
no more
The faucet weeps without a soundThe bowl fills up, no moreThe hour strikes the break of dayYet time moves on, no more The wind chime tolls for what was lostThe answer comes, no moreThe waxen sun seeps into roomsWhere shadows fall, no more The night's wings fall on candles brightThe wicks will burn, no moreThe… Continue reading no more
read! and read some more!
Growing up, I was the kid who skipped lunch to curl up with a book in a hidden corner of the school library. It wasn’t that I didn’t like people—I just liked books more. My love of reading started early in childhood. Each morning in the summer, when there was little more to do than… Continue reading read! and read some more!
dawn
The fading gleam of a streetlight. The lingering scent of a night-flower’s bloom. Shadows against the pavement like petal-pressed pages, marking the way through the dark. Blues fade to purples as mist drapes hazily through the hills. Purples fade to pinks as morning breaks in silent fracture. Pinks fade to golds and golds to splendor… Continue reading dawn
there and back again
It is, indeed, a dangerous business, going out your door. And it's true, if you step onto the road without keeping your feet, there's no knowing where you might be swept off to. Yet, the not-knowing-of-the-sweeping is a fate far preferable to the knowing-of-staying-still. Because rivers that move become oceans. And those that don't? Slowly… Continue reading there and back again
what the night holds
It is the early hours of night. Dark clouds drift wearily across the horizon. The moon, wrested from her slumber, casts a forlorn glance across her shoulder before settling her face to the east. I sit in the darkness of a silent house, the glow of my screen reflecting pale shadows against my hands. I… Continue reading what the night holds
riches
The rose thinks the garden is enough. Blossoming in its sun, it looks upward and smiles— Oh, who is it who is richer than me? The fish thinks the pond is enough. Flitting across its expanse, it looks backward and trills— Oh, who is it who is richer than me? The eagle thinks the sky… Continue reading riches
what we claim
Would that I had been there in Karbala, My life would have been given for Hussain, How often does this thought upon me gnaw— My blood would have been spilled upon those plains. With confidence, I claim I would have been Amongst those noble few who lived to die, Unflinching, facing death, their band was… Continue reading what we claim
the shepherd
The shepherd has but gone over the hill,The setting sun has but few hours to rise—Yet with the dark has fled our pasture's will,Waking is left now only for the wise.Our withered flock now wanders to and fro,While on the path few track our herder's steps;We sit and wail, drawing the wolves below,While few seek… Continue reading the shepherd
always autumn
There is a moment at the end of summer when the light changes. It is a sliver of time so thin, that unless you’re looking for it, you’re sure to miss it. In this moment, the sunlit nets cast upon the waters of the world are reeled in. With them, the brightened hue, the flaxen… Continue reading always autumn
becoming human
There is a special bottle I keep, tucked away in the corner of a hidden drawer: Use in Case of Emergency. A deep shade of pink, three-quarters full, sparkling with a liquid more precious to me than most of my possessions -- not for the contents themselves, but for where they take me. Four years… Continue reading becoming human
these nights
these nights carry within their folds a song which breaks the heart, and by such, then lives on the pierce comes soft, the ache, it never ends once tasted, this, a wound which never mends stirring on trees, a fragrant symphony rising on stars, blazing your memory worlds vanish, now, there's only you and I… Continue reading these nights
orange peels
I still remember the first day I signed up for Facebook. I was in the ninth grade, and a friend had just spent a lazy spring afternoon at my house. We were hanging out in my room, discussing everything from the travails of high school to our most recent YA fiction read, when she decided… Continue reading orange peels
who am I?
"Who am I?" Three simple words. One weighty answer. The response to this question which rises, deep, visceral, immediate from our bones, reveals more about ourselves than anything else we could voluntarily disclose. The labels we choose to identify with and accept as being accurate descriptors for the beings that we are tell us how… Continue reading who am I?
my guide
my heart's rapture holds the momentwhen I first glanced upon your facewhen all that mattered disappearedand you remained there in its place when we first met, you did not speakyet until now, your voice I hearand though the miles stretch out farby the soul's standard, you are near I came to you in summer's heatwith… Continue reading my guide
80th and 1st
John Steinbeck said, “Once you have lived in New York and it has become your home, no place else is good enough.” Oh, how right he was. I was lucky enough to call New York City home for the past few years, yet it feels as if those years lasted a lifetime. I truly believe… Continue reading 80th and 1st
this is not about you
When I think of the great artists of old, I lower my hat to them in respect. In their musings, sculptures, paintings, and art -- there was a craft. What made the Greats great was their desire to create at the upper threshold of their ability, despite knowing that such an endeavor would require time,… Continue reading this is not about you
thoreau, on social media
"Perhaps I am more than usually jealous with respect to my freedom. […] When our life ceases to be inward and private, conversation degenerates into mere gossip. We rarely meet a man who can tell us any news which he has not read in a newspaper, or been told by his neighbor; and, for the… Continue reading thoreau, on social media
there is a tale
there is a tale that aches the heart whose telling tears its seams apart a thousand years of flowing tears which call: ya Hussain there was a band of noble few who left behind all that they knew to fight the fight of dark and light their chief, al-Hussain of young and old their party… Continue reading there is a tale
what matters most
There is a surrender that happens at the peak of life, and another at the edge of death, and the two do not weigh the same. There is an abdication when the first glimmer of light is seen on the horizon, and another when the last glimmer is about to fade, and the day between… Continue reading what matters most
everyone except us
Hugo writes, "Curiosity is a form of gluttony. To see is to devour." Few exist the cannibals of the flesh, but many the cannibals of the soul. Many, who spend their evenings by the fireside, slavering over the slabs of a fellow man's spirit, the blood of a fellow man's struggle dripping from their lips. Many,… Continue reading everyone except us
burn the dead wood
One of the most important lessons I have learned in the past few years is this: do not make yourself small for anyone else. Whether it is with friends, family, or acquaintances - anyone who asks you to fold yourself into a smaller version of you so that they feel more comfortable, is not someone… Continue reading burn the dead wood
fireflies
i first met one of my closest childhood friends when we were twelve years old. i can distinctly remember the day we were introduced - two fresh-faced middle schoolers sitting a few seats away from each other in the warmth of a school library: exchanging small talk - hesitant at first, then with more excitement;… Continue reading fireflies
gone writing
"Why do you never find anything written about that idiosyncratic thought you advert to, about your fascination with something no one else understands? Because it is up to you. There is something you find interesting, for a reason hard to explain. It is hard to explain because you have never read it on any page;… Continue reading gone writing
nothing but beauty
ya Zaynab, the time has come to bid Hussain farewell horrors to pass the looming of a bloody moon foretells ya Zaynab, with the rising of Ashura’s sun to come to the aid of your Hussain there will be left no one ya Zaynab, to the battlefield he is to go and will… Continue reading nothing but beauty
the smallest acts
there have been times an infant this has shown that age does not define how much you know the wisdom that we look for in the skies is oft found in the youngest child’s cries there have been times without having to speak servants of God managed the greatest deeds unrecognized by servants of this… Continue reading the smallest acts
sweeter than honey
the meeting of swords, the clashing of souls brought by dawn after silence of night thousands who fight for darkness to prevail— a small band, warriors of the light the tenth of Muharram on Karbala’s sands a battle this morning has bloodily raged a few hours the length of centuries seems a grief by… Continue reading sweeter than honey
o eyes, shed your tears
O eyes shed your tears Muharram’s moon has turned in these days Hussain’s blood is spilled— the tents of Zaynab burned O eyes shed your tears the caravan arrives soon will the sands redden with blood— the children’s gasping cries O eyes shed your tears the bodies on the ground run upon by… Continue reading o eyes, shed your tears
the secret
the world still craves to know the secret spoken by Hussain that changed the heart of one such as Zuhayr the son of Qayn what was it that was spoken in the silence of that tent that changed a wary man into a man wholly content? when just moments ago, Zuhayr had in this act… Continue reading the secret
“carry on”
It's easy to fight when everything's right, and you're mad with the thrill and the glory; it's easy to cheer when victory's near, and wallow in fields that are gory. it's a different song when everything's wrong, when you're feeling infernally mortal; when it's ten against one, and hope there is none, buck up, little… Continue reading “carry on”
kindred spirits
It is a warm summer's night in Qom. I sit on the floor in Masjid-e-Jamkaran and look up at the ceiling, admiring the beauty of the architecture, the interlacing weaving of the Arabic calligraphy - composed with such precision, but in its composition, somehow still as wild and free-flowing as foam rising on waves of… Continue reading kindred spirits
some days
some days, I walk down the street like everyone else bundling my coat close to my neck waiting for the stoplight to turn “some weather we’re having” “isn’t that right” “in my day, autumn was never this chilly” some days, I go through the motions scribbling my name hastily across a paper filling in bubbles, a… Continue reading some days
Exhibit: The Steps of Imam Hussain
It is the day of Ashura. After performing morning amaal with the Muharram in Manhattan community at NYU, I board a bus to New Jersey - to Bait-Wali-ul-Asr: the Islamic center of my childhood and the community closest to my heart, with whom over two decades of my Ashuras have been spent. As I journey,… Continue reading Exhibit: The Steps of Imam Hussain
the aftermath
your face haunts my every dream. I wake from the fragrance of your embrace to the scent of fire and weeping— to the wailing of flowing rivers, rivers of flowing blood. "And think not Allah to be heedless of what the unjust ones do. He only respites them to a day when their eyes shall be fixed… Continue reading the aftermath
still far too soon
O night, prolong your hours— let me, for some moments longer, gaze upon his face; these hours of night, still far too soon these thousand years, still far too soon these infinite ages, still far too soon to embrace the broken body of Hussain.
Hurr, who chose to be free
light is breaking its way through gentle night with the reddened tones of a blood sunrise through the tents of Hussain on Ashura a morning breeze in deep sorrow sighs those who've just spent the night in prayer prepare now to face the battle call bidding farewell to the ones they love their words, La ila… Continue reading Hurr, who chose to be free
yourself with older eyes
I have always wondered what people mean when they say, certain stories greet you differently every time you read them. That as your story changes, so does the story for you on the page. A while back I took up the task of revisiting those many mandatory high school classroom reads - both the ones I loved and the… Continue reading yourself with older eyes
choosing for your friend a person
Do not choose for your friend a person unless they wake you in the early hours of morning for prayer. Unless their company moves you to the book of God as they share with you a verse that moves them. Unless they silence your tongue if they catch it in vain speech, reminding you of more… Continue reading choosing for your friend a person
“the art of disappearing”
When they say Don't I know you? say no. When they invite you to the party remember what parties are like before answering. Someone telling you in a loud voice they once wrote a poem. Greasy sausage balls on a paper plate. Then reply. If they say We should get together say why?… Continue reading “the art of disappearing”
warriors + poets
once, there walked amongst us warriors. we caught our breath when we witnessed the unyielding strength of their brows. we felt our hearts marked when we met the noble glint of their gaze. we fell to our knees as before our very eyes, the magnificence of lions stepped into the fray. once, there breathed amongst… Continue reading warriors + poets
ascent beckons
the task of a carefree summer's day: to watch the sunset over the city of Qom by climbing to the top of Mt. Khidhr... a task so adventure-y i didn't think twice about it until we were halfway to the top - when (of course) i decided to do the exact opposite of what every book/movie/story/piece… Continue reading ascent beckons
whispered lessons from the dust of Najaf
is there any heartache for which i can lay out my heart that you do not already know, my Lord? is there any grief for which i can weep that you do not already know, my Lord? is there any separation wrought wound for which i can cry out in pain that you do not already… Continue reading whispered lessons from the dust of Najaf
the clock is chiming
the clock is chiming, marking the hour of separation and i am caught in a slow moving apart, a heavy gaze, a drinking in with the thirst of one dying the angles of your face, the wrinkles of your eyes, holding your cloth, breathing in the remnants of scent of the only person i have… Continue reading the clock is chiming
the dust of the king
21 ramadhan 1436 | najaf, iraq it is shortly after Fajr prayers, the early morning of the day you were killed. i am standing, leaning against blue tiles in an archway of your harram, head resting against cool marble, tears falling like drops of burning oil upon my skin. glancing across the courtyard, it is… Continue reading the dust of the king
baba jaan
whenever the wheel of everyday living begins to grate on the soul, whenever things start to get too difficult and tasks begin to seem insurmountable - all I have to do is think of the one man who taught me all I know of hard work and perseverance. who, whenever I would come to him… Continue reading baba jaan
mother
alone, a traveler in a strange land, I found myself standing before you. like a small child, lost and confused I fell at your feet, stumbling upon the weight of my tears. the labyrinth of sorrows suffocated, twisting unbearable knots in my chest. I was bewildered, not knowing which way to turn. and then, I felt the tenderness… Continue reading mother
wishing
"before i met you, i was wishing to meet you.and after meeting you, i was wishing to never be separated from you.and after being separated from you, i lost the desire to wish forever." اللَّهُمَّ صَلِّ عَلَى مُحَمَّدٍ وَ آلِ مُحَمَّدٍ
you.
In this entire universe, in this vastly exploding conglomeration of planets and galaxies and stars, there is one - only one - you. How beautiful is that? You are a wonder that has never existed before and will never exist again. You are a masterpiece. Each one of us is our own masterpiece. ...So then,… Continue reading you.
changes
our lives were made to be dynamic, not static. whether we realize it or not, every minute is constantly changing who we are. we are never the same people in the next moment as we were in the last. and this is perhaps one of the greatest graces of living: that we are not obligated… Continue reading changes
the sun always rises
There are questions to be asked (what, where, why) there are heart-knots to be unraveled (should I, can I, will I) there are puzzles to be deciphered (how will, who will, when will) - and there are answers to be given. But the truth - a truth I am still struggling to learn - is… Continue reading the sun always rises
how do i go on living?
how can my body stay in this place, when my heart only wants to be where you are? how do i keep from catching my breath? how do i keep my soul from leaping from my chest? how do i go on living, knowing it's not where you are? oh, how restless is… Continue reading how do i go on living?
journey to the stars
This past summer, I was honored with the blessing of being able to travel to the holy lands of Iraq and Iran to visit the resting places of the descendants of Prophet Muhammad (peace be upon him and his family), a visitation that is often referred to as “ziyara,” or “ziyarat.” "The word ‘Ziyarat’ is… Continue reading journey to the stars
the first moment
the first moment my eyes set their sights on your karbala, i knew. the moment i saw your flag still whipping in the breeze blood red, the blood of Muhammad (s) your name written in the sky as if still held steady blood red, the arms of your flag-bearer... my life, (the death i had… Continue reading the first moment
Protected: sweet, sweet Samarra
There is no excerpt because this is a protected post.
learning to breathe
Imam Hassan (a): "He who seeks to please God at the expense of displeasing people, God suffices him in everything including his affairs with people. But the one who seeks to please people at the expense of God’s displeasure, God relegates him to those very people." if you’re ever made to feel like you’re not… Continue reading learning to breathe
such a woman
"...They feel that Hijab shall bring down the standard of their beauty. What a strange meaning of beauty! What is beauty? Where is its realm?...In your own environment, your own society, there are innumerable curtains, which have been drawn on the beauty of your being. Why don't you see these curtains? Who are you? In… Continue reading such a woman
soul work
it took Noah 200 years to build the ark. 200 years. 73,000 days. over 1,000,000 hours. of focus, dedication, persistence. from planting the tree to taking the axe to the bark to cutting and fitting and detailing -- all the while being mocked and jeered by the masses. but still, pushing on: seeing the grandeur… Continue reading soul work
would that i were with you
there is a certain emptiness of the heart that is only filled by standing at the gate to your harram, ya Ali. would that i were of the lucky ones who are standing there now – stepping forward with heavy, yearning steps; hands on their aching, restless hearts; heads lowered in salute to you; eyes… Continue reading would that i were with you
Protected: the ineffable courage of love
There is no excerpt because this is a protected post.
travelers in the night
I once met a man walking alone Where the path in the desert bends I asked him where he was headed— He said, “To visit an old friend.” Our ways seemed to cross so I asked If I might join him by his side? He gestured the way and so off we set Two… Continue reading travelers in the night
tides of the heart
the moon turns and the heart grows restless -- whispers rustle in a silent breeze of sands drenched in the blood of kings the spirit journeys to a distant land where candles flicker in a starless night and farewells sway with the rise and fall of tents the rising of the sun,… Continue reading tides of the heart
leaving you,
the time has come for me to part from the sands that whisper your names. the lands where your beautiful bodies lay. the dust whose sweet fragrance winds its way through my dreams. the time has come, but my feet have forgotten how to leave. and my tongue has forgotten how to speak. when I… Continue reading leaving you,
to see the ones i love
"Wouldn't you want to see the ones you love?" As I sit in my room packing my suitcase and checking things off scrambled lists, this question, articulated at many a dinner-table discussion by my dad, echoes through my brain. I will soon be leaving InshaAllah (God-willing) to visit for the first time the holy lands… Continue reading to see the ones i love
you, who are always saving me
you, who are always saving me. from the maelstroms i create. from the drowning i choose. from the salt-laced taste of sinking i have made so familiar to my tongue. from the seaweed tangled snares i have made so comfortable to my skin. you, who are always reviving me. a pitier of the dead, but… Continue reading you, who are always saving me
our way through fire
millennia ago, when the world was a younger place in the heavens, a human being was created from clay a being of sinew and flesh and stardust and bone a being that would, in time, call this Earth its home. the Lord said, ‘I will create a vicegerent on Earth.’ the angels replied, ‘what… Continue reading our way through fire
the way i love you
Ya Hussain. A thousand years have passed, but your love still remains. The beauty being that, to each who loves you, you are something different. Each lover claims you proudly as their own. Each speaks your name with a different tenderness. Each cherishes your touch with a different gaze. Each whispers, ya Aba Abdillah, in… Continue reading the way i love you
navigating grief
Between losing and loss, what pieces of ourselves do we discover? What pieces do we leave behind? It's a hard process, navigating this road. Mostly because no matter how much you read about it, no one can really teach you how to deal with grief. It is a solitary sea. And no one can show… Continue reading navigating grief
the ways i knew you (on the death of a great man)
When I was five, I found you in the smiling curve of numbers. I sat in the pale morning sunlight of a Sunday School classroom painted the yellow of tender summer peaches. The wind from the fan caressed my face in rounds, the buzzing gape of its mouth first turning this way then that,… Continue reading the ways i knew you (on the death of a great man)
an older sister
It's hard to express what it means to have an older sister. To me, an older sister is: a haphazardly drawn chalk highway on the driveway after school; a bike ride and jump rope until the disappearance of the last glimmer of sunlight; a competition on the swings, breathing in the brisk autumn air; ice… Continue reading an older sister
what lies ahead
Sometimes, I see the whole of my life as this giant, drawn-out timeline. And every time something big or important is about to happen, I imagine this giant Sharpie coming down, its bold, black lines marking the turn in the plot, the asterisked moment, the felt-tipped flashing light that life as I know it is… Continue reading what lies ahead
fragrance of the found
"O God, what did find who lost you? And what did he lose who found you?" -Hussain ibn Ali (a) I’ve heard whispered tales of a flower in a slumbering wood Whose tears did fall when the world’s weight it understood Drowning in the haze of fairytales, countless once upon a times Of knights bright… Continue reading fragrance of the found
guardians of the green
I lay beneath the cover of trees, the day warm against my skin...watching glimpses of sunlight make their way across the leaves, flecks striking branches as they dance together, swaying in the breeze. My hand finds a root splayed tenderly beneath my arm, and I’m struck suddenly with the strangeness of it all. That these… Continue reading guardians of the green
life, in stage directions
[Curtains. Open scene: a courtroom disguised in the drapery of a ballroom. Enter: stage right.] You turn to face the crowd. You put your hand on a book, and instead of swearing an oath of truth and honor, you find yourself slicing your heart with a quill and signing in blood a codex of rules:… Continue reading life, in stage directions
the believer’s lament
I stand at the edge of something vast. The push and the pull of centuries and the universe, a battle between light and dark rages across the fields of my soul. “Steady your arms, men! Brace the line, men!” The clamor of shields, the cacophony of this vessel of steel marching forward into the… Continue reading the believer’s lament
snowverland
I don’t know what it is about snowfall that never fails to catch your heart. That fixes your gaze to the sky like some remnant of older, more primitive magic. It creeps in silently, thickens the air with a cold so bitter that not a single breath is taken without being reminded of winter’s arrival.… Continue reading snowverland
writing. write. wright. right.
Writing, more than any other form of expression, seems to me the ultimate way in which we bare our souls to the world. The process of getting your thoughts on paper, wrestling furiously with a keyboard or fountain pen until you get it just right, attempting to translate the maelstrom of brainwaves buzzing between the… Continue reading writing. write. wright. right.
W A R R I O R S + P O E T S 