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 a different, heart rending voice. A million loves and yet you ask one as unworthy as me – in what way do I love you? . . . O beat of my heart, in what way do I not love you? When every clap of thunder, is the striking of hooves of your horse as you ride away from me forever. When every calm before the storm, is the…