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
Tag: ziyara
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
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
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
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
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
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
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W A R R I O R S + P O E T S 