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… Continue reading Hurr, who chose to be free

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