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 seen— While I have often shuddered facing life. For my Imam, what arrows have I dodged, Allowing them to strike his heart instead? How often have I marked his rivals’ calls, Drawing the map which leads them to his tent? Be wary, tongue, you are not crushed by what you proudly claim: For weighty is the status of the comrades of Hussain.
Posts tagged “hussain”
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 ago, on a summer night still with desert heat, a dear friend set off on a quest into a bustling market. Searching through alleyways, combing through side-shops, until she came across — there, what she had been looking for. Heart in hand, she returned, and gifted me a bottle of perfume, the same scent as that which is used in the sanctuary of Imam Hussain. In that moment, I…
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 made both valiant men and women brave with noble brows this noble vow til death! ya Hussain with scorching days and bitter nights the barren desert marked their plight the wound struck first — the children’s thirst their cry, ya Hussain the enemy in thousands came crooked their cause, lowly their aim blinded by greed prepared their steeds to kill… ya Hussain… the river…
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 shower down upon him rain of merciless arrows ya Zaynab, facing thousands he’ll stand as one yet all will scatter from the sword of Ali’s fearless son ya Zaynab, seeing light, the darkness will be scared more archers will be signaled and more swordsmen prepared ya Zaynab, then wounds on wounds will kiss his skin, and when they do the enemy will start to circle in……
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 world young soldiers in the service of their Lord such tyrants history had come to see the likes of which before there’d never been yet, by this Pharaoh’s reign would come to end— a infant’s basket down the river bend such miracles which had not yet been done Maryam, untouched, had given birth—a son protect his mother, Isa had been able words spoken by one resting…
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 which young children are aged from the first arrow released by the enemy Imam Hussain’s companions for him have bled while there is strength remaining in their bones not a drop of the Prophet’s blood will be shed men continue to leave, bodies continue to return as a bloody scene in a weeping desert unfurls until finally none of these brave souls remain each companion valiantly departs…
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 horses hooves— broken, in pieces found O eyes shed your tears the son and father part the Prophet’s face enters the fray— yet spears still pierce his heart O eyes shed your tears will not be quenched a thirst the neck of Hussain’s pure infant— an arrow reaches first O eyes shed your tears to Furat Abbas goes Hussain sets out along his side— Hussain returns…
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 persisted: where Hussain lay his camp, Zuhayr would lay his at a distance two caravans had found their paths by destiny were crossed yet one hid from the other steering clear at any cost til finally the noble son, the heir of Thaqalayn dispatched a message for Zuhayr, the simple son of Qayn with one who had avoided him, Hussain now wished to speak…
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.
For Shi’as in too many parts of the world, any type of public gathering is a risk. Whether in mourning or in happiness, the constant threat of murder is employed in an effort to silence the remembrance of Prophet Muhammad and his family. In an effort to erase the most beautiful piece of human history. Tactics of terror are put in place in the hopes that those who know and love these individuals will not only shy away from spreading stories of their message or speaking about their legacy… but will also hesitate, even when naming their children – knowing that a name that would reveal the depth of their love and affinity for the Prophet’s family might one day result in the stopping of a bus, a random ID…
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 ha illAllah on the other side of the desert plain an enemy is preparing now for war amongst them is seated a man named Hurr a different battle waging at his core what is this he is hearing around him? what is this he has heard the soldiers say? who is this they are planning to kill – planning now the murder of al-Hussain? as if…
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 ever loved. the clock is chiming, marking the hour of separation and i am backing away, each footstep the crushing weight of mountains. “with each of my first steps, i was closer, now closer, now the closest to you in this world that i had ever been… and with my final ones, i am now farther, farther, farther from you than i wish to ever be…” the clock is…
“Be with me always—take any form…only do not leave me in this abyss, where I cannot find you! Oh, God! it is unutterable! I cannot live without my life! I cannot live without my soul!” i am caught in the snares of your love i am drowning in the oceans of your memory i am gasping for breath on cliffs in the depths of a winter’s night screaming out your name i am fumbling with the wreckage of my heart, sinews and veins trailing between my fingers my bruised knees slipping on rivers of tears and blood please, do not leave me in the care of my self (12:53) do not abandon me to the wolves that howl inside hungering to tear me apart do not desert me now, in my hour…
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 travelers in the night As we walked we spoke of our songs The melodies written throughout our lives Miles passed in this way in dust under stars Until he stopped – “I have arrived.” I looked around but all I could see Was desert, reaching out like sea But the man planted his cane and said, “This is where my friend will come to me.” I…
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 reason is there for this birth? will you place there one who would only shed blood? make mischief and pollute clear rivers with mud? who would fight hard and lie and from others steal? who would cry out and cheat and innocents kill? who You’ll make, yet heedless will be their praise while we celebrate and glorify your Holy Names?’ all of the angel’s concerns, God already knew…
“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 in shining armor, women with beauty refined Too weakened by shadows, roots shaken by each passerby So it learned to prick hands that either crushed, or at its beauty did sigh Its strength tested, soon took its bent stem as a sign of defeat Was told once its petals would fall, would turn man into beast Lost and confused, turned for answers to a wise, olden…
