Muharram!! A month of mourning, sadness and grief! Why??
The greatest sacrifice in humanity that has made every soul cry.
Its the personality of Hussein, the grandson of the holy Prophet Mohammed, that shook mankind,
Kerbala, the land where Islams message was read.
Its not all about the bloodshed that the tragedy took place,
Its the words of ” I will not give my hand to a man like you” on the tyranny (Yazid’s) face.
72 companions & Hussein fought and gave up all they had,
But the attrocities they were made togo through were heartbreaking and sad.
Their heads were cut,children slapped and women removed off their coverings,
But still the family of the Holy Prophet stood firm through all the happenings.
Be it an elderly like Hussein,a youngster like Ali Akber or a 6 month old baby Ali asghee, they were ready to stand up for the truth,
Anything to stand against the man who was a liar, womanizer & most of all a disgrace to the religion of Islam.
On the 10th of Muharram, the day of Ashura, Hussein and his companions gave away their lives,
The time it was proven that a precious life is worth giving in the name of truth and religion.
Its the bravery of these martyrs that Islam has reached our ears,
That today the word ” Ya Hussein” is what everyone hears.
Zainab, the sister of I. Hussein who took care of the ladies after his death,
Dragged from Kerbala to kufa and shaam but gave an excellent speech in the palace of Yazid just showed her level of faith.
Kerbala is not a commemoration of Muharram but a mission for Islam to carry,
The direct link that can lead to the appeaeance of the son of Hussein “Al-Mahdi” to hurry.
Let us try & follow the actions of these amazing personalities & fear none but the Almighty,
And to HIM we pray for a chance to visit the holy land of Kerbala, Labbaik Ya Hussein!!
Archive for the ‘Poetry cirlce’ Category
I am told I must tread,
Across this minefield,
Oh, how very challenging,
Let’s see what I yield.
Imperative to go,
Danger mines scattered around,
Wrong step will blow my fate,
And troubles shall abound.
Must reach to the end,
With my bag of good deeds,
An overwhelming task,
Most difficult indeed!
Careful steps I begin,
Protecting what is mine,
Don’t want to blow apart,
Lose all to this mine.
Closely, if I see,
The mines here are,
Small slips of tongue,
But Gigantic, the errors.
The comment I didn’t mean,
The hot exchange of words,
Are all explosive mines,
Turning gardens to deserts.
The wrong forbidden gaze,
May seem innocent fun,
But will trigger the mine,
Leaving apart none.
The sin thought so tiny,
Looked harmless to me,
But over here it’s a mine,
Threatening to destroy me.
For an Earthquake’s crack,
Will shake a skyscraper,
Built over many years,
Seconds will see it taper.
Halfway through this field,
When I look behind and see,
Realize ‘tis not so hard,
To achieve victory.
Keep your focus on the goal,
That is Allah’s pleasure,
Then mines you can avoid,
Your good deeds you treasure.
(The greatest sin is the one whose doer perceives it to be minor- Hadees )
I gaze out in searching… for a saviour rising
The absence in my heart… calls out for his name
In a heart that’s bleeding… a fire igniting
And only his rising… can put out this flame
I wrote a letter… toward my Master
Addressed to your name… addressed to your name
* * *
Upon the horizon, I see no figure
Rising from the Earth’s curve: no hope, no picture
And I squint with my eye… until the tears I cry
Write a message that I hold up in the air
I hope that he sees and my cry for help heeds
The message in my hand, I hope that he reads
I use a tortured voice… void of options and choice
To cry out for the pride of my work and deeds
I cry, from my desperation, turned insane
* * *
A love letter addressed toward my beloved
On it I place my soul and all that I’ve loved
For myself I’ve disgraced… when so much I have placed
Before Imam Mehdi, my life and my blood
I know that he’s upset, but still now I call
I knock upon his door – before me a wall
I have but my regret… failing test after test
When truly his wonders, my being, enthral
And yet my fears tell me, ‘Mehdi can you blame?’
* * *
My Master this letter, it contains my heart
But how can I send it, when we’re worlds apart?
Between us a distance… measured in your grievance
Tell me from this void will you ever depart?
Or is your home and absence one and the same?
* * *
Tell me shall I bury it deep in the ground?
Shall I speak it’s silence, in hope of a sound?
Do my lips I seal… ignore the surreal
Should I dry my tears hoping to see the profound?
If I sought out comfort in a different land
For whom would I cry out, when I need to stand?
If my hand I extend… my wounds would you not mend?
When pieces of my heart together I band
Shall the sorrow in me, my Master, I tame?
* * *
I do not know which house to this letter send
Master I leave it to flutter in the wind
If by chance it would reach… you, Mehdi, heed my speech
And rise from your absence, to your lovers tend
For hearts are confused when, you, they would implore
Which house do we approach, and knock on which door?
Bewildered we wander… hoping for an answer
That wipes the tears that now into rivers pour
For how much longer will our pain be our fame?
* * *
When shall the horizon see your figure rise?
Does not tire you disguise after disguise?
For my letter tells you… of how much we need you
And how we tire of our trials and cries
Master bring me your hand, receive my letter
So I can find out where abides my Master
As to but remind you… that we’re waiting for you
The time of your absence, later and later
I waited, but Master your absence it came…
Away from the dwelling of men
Under a festival of stars where the light of night hovers
But darkness still eats away to the sigh of the wind
In a location known only to my mind
He found me asleep against my own ignorance
Coiled in loose folds of shame
An orphan in a world that had abandoned me
Where worldly hope burnt men
Until they were lost in the white heat waves
Shadeless and helpless
Amongst the carcasses of broken and abandoned souls
Alone in the dying breast of the world
Just like the distant stars, this heart maybe beating
But it has been long dead
And its next beats would take it into dusk
With time gnawing against the walls
Unzipping it from a soul so eager
So eager to separate, hopeless
But he found me as if he knew
He knew I would be waiting at the guillotine of time
Like a mortal Jonah
Waiting to see the timeless patience in his eyes
And chase hope that has declared him a master
With a hand reaching back to me
He showed me how his scent made a garden out of God’s desert
An oasis out of the emptiness
Breathing life into my worldly death like Jesus
In a desert void of hope
His presence was Noah’s ark
Turning sand into a rippling current of sea
The sea of me
Splitting me from my past, Moses
Building me like the walls of worship
Until I was strong enough to walk
And follow the crunching sound of his feet
Into the mystified distance
Until the horizon was one with his light
My fevered eyes locked on his shadow
Chasing him through clouds that rise and disappear
Running down the passage of time
Seeing nothing but him carrying me
Like the holy book of Mohammed(saw)
Finally arriving where my ego can sink into the shore
Sinking into worship despite knowing my strength knows no bound
Finally lifting my head from this dream
Looking up to see him fade into the distance
just as wind fades, Mahdi
As we look around today,
There is no peace and tranquility sadly to say.
Be it palestine, iraq or any neighbouring state,
Bloodshed,devastation and war has become their fate.
The situation of these poor nations has resulted to being helpless in their own soil,
For the powerful authorities, is this justice or its all about the oil?
9/11 was a big turnover for the world as many lives were lost and till date remembered,
What about the millions that lose their lives everyday and yet not heard?!
A bombing in an upper state gives rise to “terrorism”
Whilst an attack on these innocent lives means”fight against terrorism”
And who today stands up for these tortured souls when we are so busy living our best,
We are so involved in ourselves that it doesnt matter what happens to the rest
Is this the attitude we will stand with when “the saviour of mankind” rises?
Let us raise our hands and pray that justice prevails and ends these deadly crises.
Approaching near are the last blessed nights
Have I finished with my nafs fights?
Am I pure from violation of others’ rights?
Or am I still entangled in my woeful plights?
More than two third of the blessed month has slipped by
To reform myself in these days did I try?
Did I take advices or told friends upon me not to pry?
Did I perform all the recommended or was I too shy?
Why does my heart feel heavy with guilt and pain?
Have I wasted too much of my time in vain?
O Allah, then shower upon me the Mercy rain
Free me from all these wordly knots and chains
I got entangled in the worldly glamour
And got addicted to the colourful flavor
I forgot the goal in life, My Supreme Creator
And everything else other than Him began to matter
My Imam calls the world the sneezing of a goat
But in that filthy sea I love to sail my boat
O Lord, against myself I dug up a deep moat
Oh! There is an unswallowable lump in my throat
Allah, can I still turn back to you and say sorry?
Or will You say, every year it’s the same story?
Why don’t I repent in such a manner?
That I will never need repentance another?
O Allah, wrap me up in Your Mercy so Divine
But for that you have drawn a line so fine
I have to turn to friends & acquaintances of mine
And say sorry to them first to get Mercy of Thine
Dear friend, my hand to you do I sincerely extend
Forive me please, as the journey is without end
In wronging others, time I will not spend
Try my best, I will, to get away from that trend
Forgiveness to others is a Divine trait
In acquiring it let us not be late
Only pure souls shall enter the Holy domain
Others have wasted their lives in pure vain
As I click the mouse and send to you this mail
I seek your forgiveness without fail
Then only in the ocean of Allah’s love can I sail
With the Aarifeen who have left behind a trail
I’m Muslim and no-one can deny for me that title
Nor can it all the worship I carry out belittle
This, to those who tell me what I believe, my rebuttal
And of an oath toward my beliefs, but a renewal
* * *
I believe in the Lord and to him is no division
Nor can he be multiplied or attributes be given
He who cannot be described by the words of a poem
Neither will do justice to Him a heart in submission
* * *
And in the seal of the Prophets my soul testified
His words embedded as gold within my own heart abide
To each tongue that stands and tells me this saint you have denied
Live in your arrogance whilst I take this saint as my pride
From a heart strung in purity I’ve built all my moral
Mohammed and this heart I remember with each quarrel
Toward morals that want to learn he’s the holy grail
The key to success behind every successful tale
* * *
The crown on my head is the peak of very eloquence
The letters of his name, Ali, welded very patience
For years men study him and yet shrouded is his essence
Whilst we live his lovers and are orphans in his absence
He who taught me ‘speech’ is silver but golden is ‘silent’
And with this speech is shaped to be wise and self-dependant
I learned to drag tragedy in chains by being patient
Whilst men sleep forgotten by time, Ali stands defiant
* * *
The pearl of my heart is the mistress of every woman
A school of lessons and morals toward those who listen
She who taught that a woman’s voice, though it remains hidden
Can level mountains and kingdoms when it fights oppression
She taught me though a woman should be treated like a rose
Beneath its petals lies her valour that streams in her woes
A woman’s voice is embedded in all even her foes
Like a woman’s name from her husband’s heart never goes
* * *
Full of beauty the Master of the youth of Paradise
Even Muhammad’s heart this Hassan’s beauty would entice
Beauty in his hunger, when morsels of food would suffice
So that the poor would be given all that he’d sacrifice
From him I learnt to even at the face of despair smile
To comfort your enemy when he throws on you a trial
To let a clean and loving heart meet with one that is vile
And to forgive one its sins when it walks down death’s aisle
* * *
With the Master of martyrs my very heart-beat aligned
And every path possible to me, toward him I signed
A heart that is not understood by the greatest of minds
An undying flame that can’t be explained nor be defined
He who with his blood upon dust taught every uprising
The voice of the oppressed does not die with the sun rising
Neither does truth falter when for its soul you are fighting
Fighting with your words or with the pen with which you’re writing
* * *
Ali Sajjad the spiritual upliftment of my prayer
Moulded my mind’s perception of my Lord, made it aware
He who shivered before prostration, before he would share
The deepest fears of his heart’s beyond with his Creator
From this surviving son, the prince of all those who prostrate
I learnt that prayer is the factor to every final fate
Words that shape our moral let alone open Heaven’s gate
Prayers that in beings both humility and love create
* * *
Take my hand and let me show you the splitter of knowledge
The fifth of a line of princes, yet where is his coverage?
Ignored is Baqir whilst to unaware he’s leverage
Toward your wounds of ignorance O’ Shia a bandage
From him I learnt knowledge in each soul is a prime factor
It differs between the prestigious and other numbers
Whilst our people are divided into camps and sectors
To each secluded camp I say Baqir is my scholar
* * *
To the truthful the Lord guided this once ungrateful fool
So I kiss the tears of the hand that built that very school
Imam Sadiq, the truthful, each word he spoke was a tool
To craft a university, with God’s word as its rule
I was blessed to study in this school, a minor student
To be called a Shia make’s life worth each precious moment
And what a school, that crowns kings those who are obedient
He who serves this Household unlike any other servant
* * *
And then my eye turns to the companion of a jail
Who held onto hope even when it held to no avail
Even when patience was not a word and weaved in brail
Kathom rewrote the word patience in intimate detail
And from him I learnt that when despite being imprisoned
The ability to worship, one is still conditioned
And when life as a jail the believer has envisioned
His heart and his soul daily for worship has petitioned
* * *
I walk across deserts to find the strangest of strangers
Devoid of his family and living amongst dangers
A stranger in a strange land our Imam Ridha wanders
Whilst taunts this king, silent whispers of a thousand murders
Yet from the syllables of his name I learnt to be pleased
Even when every blessing toward me my Lord has ceased
Even when for whatever reasons I am mocked and teased
Even when between my hands my own heart sits torn and deceased
* * *
From the youth that is Jawad the overly generous
He who taught to give away what to you is most precious
Despite that against him were crimes oppressive, atrocious
He smiled in the face of tragedy, thankful and gracious
As I stand on the final edge of the age of my youth
He taught me each day I age must bring me closer to truth
Whether it’s the adam of my apple or the wisdom in my tooth
I’ve no excuse to not know God with every inch of growth
* * *
I paint to you the defining moment of oppression
When Hadi’s shrine around him in twisted wreck is ridden
They proved their aim is not to guard their view of religion
But to burn love and memory of Fatima’s children
But it does not matter, as his name means the one who guides
And his lovers still flock to him like the sea’s very tides
It’s beyond the title Shia, it’s beyond taking sides
It’s the never extinguishing love that in us abides
* * *
And that is why our beloved Imam Askeri they killed
Because it burns them that within his Shia he’s instilled
To the extent that we would obey whatever he’d willed
It eats them that with his murder, with grief the hearts are filled
It eats them that our children, the hearts of our eyes we name
If it’s a girl Fatima, a boy Hassan or Hussain
That we let the love of Ali flow through their very veins
That we teach them Zainab’s patience, before they know the sky rains
* * *
Our prayer since Zainab with Hussain’s severed head confided
Since Abbas to not quench his thirst before Hussain decided
Since a three-pronged arrow in the baby’s neck abided
O’ Lord return to us Mehdi the guided
He who’d instil in this world justice and prosperity
And remove all memory of any calamity
Heed cries of the oppressed when their cries were once profanity
Give the mind intellect when it knew but insanity
And when from the smoke of death and cries you see him rising
Know that justice embodied has begun his uprising
His mission, from morality he’d be exercising
Of stability to an unstable world comprising
* * *
This is the Household that from strings of Heaven have been thread
When the first is Muhammad and the last is Muhammad
Hearts captured by their trance as their teachings continue to spread
As this Household of gold over the world becomes widespread
I’m Shi3i, and no-one can tell me what I should have believed
Because they don’t know about the names that in my heart are weaved
How can it be that by love of this house one is deceived?
When my heart beats their obedience with every breathe I’ve breathed
* * *
Karbala/London – 19/02/11