My Master, Husayn (Writings)

Cries…

With strands of black my body is covered,

With anguish and sorrow my self, cloaked,

Now my only state is that of grief,

My only language is of tears, with it I speak,

Listen to the cries, the ones beyond existence,

Listen to the story of one man’s resistance.

Travel with me into the arms of my mother,

In my infancy when I cried like any other,

She whispered to me "Hush little baby"

You're like no other, you, my child are Hussaini.

Let me tell you of another mother, her cry,

the one that Faatimah let out, that shook the sky,

When she was gifted Hussain’s ripped shirt,

covered in his scent, blood, and Kerbala’s holy dirt.

Think back to Roqayyah on that far away land,

When she's left her headless love on the burning sand,

she cries to him "In this prison come be my guest"

For without your chest, my heart seizes to rest.

Then let Hussain take over your mind,

The man who courage, for eternity, defined

The wild flower whose stem broke apart,

When the spear embraced Ali al Akber’s brave heart,

My heart and soul to the two domes fly, to see,

Standing there let me tell you of a cry coming from within me,

Do I go to Bab al Hawaij, the needy’s only home?

Or do I go to the lover of lover's glistening golden dome?

Torn, I made my way to the one water calls "Master",

"Go back" he cried as if this were some kind of torture,

"Run across the way to MY master" Abbas said,

Go there and bathe yourself in the tears that millions have shed.

Finally, I reached that sun, where the black flag towered,

When everything within me, in his majesty, was overpowered,

So I laid there, still, about to embrace my death,

And I said his name with the loss of my last breath.

Hussain… Hussain… Hussain.

Shikayaat

The heart synchronizes with sobs I don't control,

It aches and yearns as if it were not whole,

Oh heart! Why do you break every time you hear his name?

Why does the healer of wounds, to break my heart, aim?

I see the sun and the clouds in the sky,

I recall a child with nothing but a hope filled cry,

Oh clouds! why did you not Ali Al Asgher's plea respond?

You hovered by while Hurmala his neck, for an arrow, pawned!

Then in my thoughts comes a warrior,

The moon covered in blood, his story like no other,

Oh arrow! why do you, Abbas, blind? 

Do you pleasure, in the screams of thirsty children, find?

And when the leaves glisten and flowers burst,

I think of a young girls intense thirst,

Oh rose! Why do you envy the redness of Sukaina's cheek?

Is it ripped ears, slaps, or whips that you seek?

I Sing Husayn!

Black face, Stained heart,

I come to you torn apart,

Buried in sin, the weight of my wrong,

I am released from, when I sing your song,

So I sing Husayn, Husayn, Husayn, Husayn,

I sing to that tune when I hear how you were slain.

My soul I have hurt, my self I have damned,

I was lost in this world, till I heard of your stand.

They argue that with your life you lost the war,

I tell them, to tell me what this life is really for,

If it is to serve Him and Him alone, you won,

If it is not, then the purpose of this blessing surely isn't known.

I am called names, they call me vicious things,

to that, I am numb because your praise alone in my ears, it rings

I hear the sound of the army of lovers you lead,

I hear of the time you held Abdullah over your head,

So tell me how can I not love what is love?

Tell me, how can I not love WHO is love.

Man Dhanmbu Tifli

The roughness of the brown bark of a tree,

My tongue clones to the touch,

To any, anguish it would be,

Thirsts choke, its tight clutch,

Then my father, to set me free,

Joined me to the enemy, to plea,

That is when He cried out

 “man dhanmbu tifli”

I lay on the hands of the appointee,

As he my father rests his case,

He lays me down, and leaves the rest to the almighty,

My dry throat he hopes to replace,

Should they to quench my thirst agree.

Just a touch of water, just a trace,

Would surely be a relieving grace,

With that thought, Hurmalaa with an arrow

My neck replaced.

It was then that my throat burst,

Not once or twice… three times.

The arrows of Hurmalaa the cursed,

A punishment for imaginary crimes,

Now in my blood my father’s hands immersed,

This is the fate of the holy lines.

For keeping the religion of the lord preserved.

My 6 months of life were worth mere dimes.

I had done nothing, this to have deserved.

Is it my name that you hate?

Is that what drives you to kill us?

Is that why my father you forsake?

Or is it the blood in my veins that you disgust?

Is that why by brother’s ribs you break?

Is that why so much pain you’ve caused?

Now the Last Muhammed, the Mahdi we await,

He will clear the clouds of the unjust,

And the dawn of justice he will wake…

Before my final breaths left me,

I looked to my father’s face,

The thought of another Ali

Grew in my minds surface,

I thought back to that Ali,

His raising of the fortress,

His death in his Sujood so inhumanly,

This Ali’s death mimicks its injustice,

Only he dies in his Sujood,

While I die on my father’s Masajid

Marks left

I walked on the streets,

It was the smell of holiness,

We walked with our bare feet,

To our master, his highness.

I knocked on his door,

Gaze fixed where he lay,

I touched the floor,

Knowing I’d never forget this day.

My feet went one after the other,

As they brushed the red of carpet,

My knees in the presence of my master,

Fell like a rains droplet.

I entered his chamber,

His beauty so serene,

Losing my mind was the danger,

A place like it I had never seen.

Then as I walked away,

I left my heart with him,

I had left my mark on it,

Husayns grave had left its mark on me..