Living a Lie

Have you ever stopped,

To look in the mirror

And see

The life you live?

Have you ever sought,

By way of truth,

To be as you appear?

Have you ever wondered

What happens

When the walls fall,

And you are exposed.

Have you ever cried

Simply at the thought,

Of the day when screens will part?

Have you realized,

The time is now,

To end the lie you live.

Will you now

Make amends

And seek His grace?

Will you remember

That it was He,

Who sheltered you;

And veiled your face.

Will you then

Not turn to Him,

Who covered you before?

The Victor

This mighty warrior stands,

Shaking like a leaf in the autumn winds,

Humbled and begging on his prayer mat.

His raised hands have asked of no man,

For he sees none worthy of completing his needs,

And turns to Him who is Able.

Every act on the battlefield,

Every moment, accounted for and successful,

And the earth is humbled to him.

The creatures are drawn to him,

Like bees to nectar,

By the fragrance of his ways; and

Perfuming the sin-stenched paths of life,

Lighting them, and giving hope.

He loves and cares for fellow man,

For he serves God,

As only a free man can.

No reward entices him to worship,

Nor do any threats compel him to bow.

His eye has been opened in realization,

Of his insignificance,

And the majesty of the Lord.

Thus he seeks Him, for He is worthy.

He is far sighted, seeing the next world.

Living a simple life, not attracted,

Not enticed by the allure and pomp of this world.

He enjoys the company of the honest,

And is just to all, both friend and foe.

When he is killed, his companions miss him,

With the missing of a mother,

Whose child is slain in her lap.

When he roars, ignominy trembles

For it senses the approaching end.

With his glance,

Falsehood is defeated, brought to its knees.

And when he speaks,

It is mortally wounded, dead and silent.

Then when he acts,

The grave of falsehood vanishes,

No tombstone to mark its once assured existence.

Battling the mighty beast,

The ferocious flame of his desire,

He draws his sword of submission,

From its sheath of obedience,

And strikes desire through the heart.

Killing his self a thousand times,

And then once more,

Till it is vanquished,

And truth emerges victorious.

He is a victor,

A loyal follower of the lion of God.

The Ultimate Truth

Start by looking at the clear water,
And compare with the clarity of your deeds,
Its cooling freshness is a promise of a fresh start.
To meet such a worthy Master,

Wash your soul and clean it of its smog,
Emptying off its fickle thoughts and burdens.
With each limb say a prayer,

To be among the companions of the right not the left,
And allow this head to prostrate before You on that day;
When feet will slip on the narrow unlit path.
The body has been washed, the mind freed; and
The journey can begin.

Make the intention before Him,
Pledging your attempt at commitment,
To distance mind, body and soul
From its earthly engagements.
The business competitor forgotten,
Distracting wife and kin set aside.
Glorifying Him with your Lips,

And seeking His help and Mercy,

When acknowledging the burden of your sins.
The wings unfurl,
The soul can soar,
The servant is at the door of the garden.

Standing, suddenly bewildered,
In rehearsal of that day,
When wealth and children will avail no benefit,
And no wit, argument or prose will defend.
The arms now helplessly by your side,
Empty and silent,
Will testify and say all.
The firm ground below you,
Not opening to swallow your shame.
The time is now to plead and mitigate your loss.
Having proclaimed His greatness,
You can now begin in His name.

In the King of Kings’ court,
The beggar can raise his hands.
Which other king will grant immunity, release,
Complete your needs and give you peace?
The servant is weighed by his wants,
And the Master loves the seeker who asks.
Beg for the best of this world,
And the joys of the next,
And the greatest need:
Of reunion with the Imam.
To accompany your humble pleas and give them wings,
Send salutations to His most beloved ones.

Bowed down, hands on knees,
Facing the ground to which you’ll return,

Reminding yourself of your assured destination,

Where wealth and kin offer no salvation; and

Only the lamp of your deeds provides light in the dark.
Bow and abase yourself before Him,
To be raised in the eyes of men and lowered in your own.
“Glorified are You the Mightiest

Who hears those who praise Him!”
Having bowed to the worthy Master,
The servant now has the courage:
To rise again and face the world.

The forehead kisses the earth,
And gets a taste of heaven.
By the sword of total abasement,
To the Glorified, the most High,
Ego and desire meet their death,
Satan is slapped once again.
The servant is reminded of impending death,
And the final resting place.
Dust resting on dust,
Brings the servant face to face with truth:
He who has truly prostrated his head,
Has awakened and is now dead.

Prayer is the ultimate truth.

A Flower is Born

On that day a heavenly delegation descended to the house of Rasul and Khadijah,

With a rose from heaven - a gift for their dedication to the religion,

A child whose praiseworthy qualities would be mentioned constantly by the creatures,

One whose pleasure would earn the source the blessings of Allah,

And whose displeasure would earn its source His wrath,

Our source of hope, the lady of matchless faith and features,

The noble Batoul, for Imam Ali the only worthy match,

For whose hand in marriage, the Quraysh would treasures fetch.

She, who was destined to be the mother of the Hasanayn,

The lady of the family which remains faithful to Allah in all the tests,

The mistress of the ladies of the heavens and the earth,

The one whose aura lit up the heavens when she prayed,

A radiant lady of light, a daughter of noble birth and upbringing,

A book of lessons in true submission and piety,

The scented path leading to the ark of salvation and felicity,

For all believers, the epitome of modesty and chastity,

And for all ladies - a role model for their societal duties.

Four worthy ladies from heaven did descend,

To help bring this child whose position with Allah is praised,

The mother of all, Hawa, whose children through Zahra would be saved, and

Um Kulthum, Musa (as)’s sister who braved the Pharaoh’s scrutiny,

Accompanied by lady Maryam, the mother of Prophet Isa’ the anointed,

With Aasiyah - the strong believer - from heaven were appointed.

Amidst a shower of blessings and salutations from the heavens,

The time has come to give the Prophet congratulations,

And Satan groans as his well laid evil plans are torn,

For the heavenly princess, gracious Zahra has been born.

Radiant Birth

When she was born, the angels descended in a shower of heavenly blessings,
This is the radiant lady of light about whom Allah sent to the Prophet glad tidings.

The sprouting of a heavenly seed meant to ease the Prophet’s sorrow,
A pure, goodly child - a lesson of piety for the people of tomorrow.

Four noble ladies are appointed from heaven to assist and witness her arrival,
The beautiful Kawthar through whom the Prophet’s lineage was granted survival.

Not by her father’s name, the baby born is a mistress in her own right,
Who has earned a special position and proximity in Allah’s sight.

The gracious Zahra whose heavenly fragrance humbles that of all flowers,
And for whose sake the inhabitants of earth are sent blessings in showers.

All those who will love them are ensured His salvation,
Such is the result of Fatimah and her family’s dedication.

At her birth, Satan is distraught and plans new means of discord,
This lady Batoul is a means of safety and closeness to the Lord.

Lady Fatimah wa abeeha wa ba’liha wa baneeha are the purified family,
With the news of whose blessed station the believers speak happily.

When she was born, the angels her praises did sing,
O believers today, with joy let your hearts ring!

The inhabitants of the heavens are flooded by her radiant light,
When the pure lady stands humbled in prayer through the night.

On this day O believers stand up and send salutations to Imam Ali’s wife,
The child who was born is the princess for whom you would sacrifice your life!

Land of Dreams

The whispers of the heart cry out at night,
And the soul, trapped within, wishes for flight,
To soar, fly and hold the Ka’abah in its sight,
And know with certainty that all the dreams were right,
To unite with the races in proclaiming His Might,
And be present at the land of dreams, the holy site.

The eyes are filled, with glistening tears,
The body senses that Zahra’s grave nears,
In the garden of Baqee the slaves throw aside all fears,
Sending the blessed salutations, all doubt clears,
Brought to tears with memories of echoes of enemy jeers,
In this land of dreams, Rasul’s footsteps echo in the ears.

The duty of love calls and the heart can no longer feign:
It must go and witness the moment of injustice’s reign,
And deal with the tragedy and The Family’s pain,
Which happened on the tenth of Muharram at Karbala’s plain,
Where the visitors reach out, and for a glimpse of his grave, strain,
In the land of dreams, the land that holds Hussain.

The gathering clouds in the sky make the landscape bleak;
And realization dawns that this journey is not for the weak,
Only those who have left and the abandoned prince seek,
Who realized what it means to be a stranger, alone and meek,
The yearnings of the heart through silent tears leak;
To witness the land of dreams, to cry at Ridha’s side for a week.

Beyond the fences and treaties that lie,
And where millions are left to die,
Where tanker for stone is considered an eye for an eye,
The place Rasul stopped on his journey to heaven high,
And whose tale of oppression will make you sigh,
To the land of dreams, Al Quds for whose freedom I cry.

To witness these lands, the believer’s eye gleams,
And with love for this family, the empty soul teems,
Which love on the garment of piety forms the seams,
On whose basis of criterion, people will be divided into teams,
One who has visited them can’t get enough it seems,
For these are the lands of love and tears, the lands of dreams. 

Sukaina Cried

…Sukayna cried…
At the throat-parching, soul-tearing infant’s thirst
…Sukayna cried…
At the darkening skies concealing the earth’s shame
…Sukayna cried…
For all the brothers, cousins and uncles who went out
...Sukayna cried...
For the blood-drenched, death-quenched baby
…Sukayna cried…
On seeing the empty death-filled rocking cradle
…Sukayna cried…
As she held onto Dhuljanaah’s legs and pleaded with the horse
…Sukayna cried…
As she listened to her father’s heartbeat for the last time
…Sukayna cried…
When the Imam sought her permission to go to the field
…Sukayna cried…
When she heard the shriek of her aunt, mother and brother
…Sukayna cried…
When she realized she had been orphaned and her mother widowed
…Sukayna cried…
For she knew the trials were only beginning
…Sukayna cried…
As the tents were burnt and the belongings scattered
…Sukayna cried…
When her ear lobes were torn and the earrings snatched
…Sukayna cried…
As she asked which way Najaf was, the abode of her grandfather
...Sukayna cried...
For every hoof that stamped upon her father's chest
...Sukayna cried...
During the long wait for the uncle who never returned
...Sukayna cried...
At the sight of the unveiled heads and dismembered bodies
…Sukayna cried…
As she took water to the youngest one first
…Sukayna cried…
As they were paraded through the market like goods
…Sukayna cried…
In the prison cell in Shaam that would be her home
…Sukayna cried…
As she related their sufferings to those who would listen
...Sukayna cried...
And her gentle pure tears broke this heart of stone
…Sukayna cried…
And for that the Shias’ eyes will never dry. 

Only Tears

I am in search of answers
To questions that haunt my thoughts
Upon what scroll will these tears make their mark
And what words will suffice to trace the tragic end
For what crime was my Lady felled
And for what sin was Muhsin slain
Beside which Prophet will this ummah stand
When they are asked about an unmarked grave and a door that crushed
With what name will they plead for intercession
They who deprived Ali of his God-given companion
What sorrow will capture the moment when time stood still
And Zahra watched again her Muhsin struck by Hurmula’s arrow
For what purpose were veils snatched from those
Whose chastity is known on the earth and praised in the heavens
Along which river did the ark of salvation pass
Yet Abbas died thirsty at a shore
What science is needed to explain why the skies wept blood
When Zahra came down from the heavens and mourned her beheaded son
I have no answers for My Lady, only tears
Only tears can answer these questions. 

Condolences

Condolences first go to the Prophet of Mercy 
And to the lady, the mother of the orphans
Then to Murtadha for the loss of jannah’s flower
And to the Hasanayn  for the loss of their mother
Then to my ladies Zaynab and Um Kulthum
And to the baby brother, Muhsin the unborn

Condolences are also due to the noble Imams
As-Sajjad, al Baqir, As-Sadiq, al Kadhim, al Ridhaa
At-Taqiyy, and Naqiyy and Hasan al Askariyy 
The greatest condolences tonight go to our Imam
The hidden, the awaited, lonely flower of Zahraa (atf)
Who feels the pain of all his fathers past
And that of the ummah he watches behind a cloud

Condolences next go the believers today
Who grieve this loss and darkening of the skies
And through their tears reach out for the Imam
Knowing he will set the world right
And end all oppression, bringing tyranny to its knees
And most of all to be with him by his side
As he mourns his grandmother
The radiant Lady of Light.

May the peace of Allah be upon you Ya Mawlati Fatimah, on the day you were born, and the day you died, and the day that the ummah of your father will need your intercession to save them from their deeds. 

Struck By Calamities

She was born to the noblest of parents and
Was the radiant light of truth 
The wife of the prince of the believers
And the mother of two martyred sons

Struck by loneliness and grief
By the death of her mother
Then bereft of her father
And her Muhsin was never to be born
Yet the calamities rained down upon her
And turned the days to nights
Struck by calamities was she

In Kufa the prince goes to pray
And into prostration he falls
Ibn Muljim raises his sword and strikes
Injuring him, grieving her
Killing him, drowning her
Struck by calamities was she

In Madinah Al Hasan is killed
Then his bier by a shower of arrows struck
Each striking his corpse and piercing her heart
Struck by calamities was she

In Karbalaa they lined up
One after the other went heaven’s way
The infant was slain, blinded was she
Then Husayn was struck and she was hit
And the horses trampled and she wept in grief
Struck by calamities was she

In Shaam they snatched veils
And bared Zaynab to the market’s crowd
Burning tents, setting her soul on fire
Snatching earrings, tearing her heart
Struck by calamities was she

In the world today darkened by absence of Imam
Each oppression is Fadak snatched again
Each curse is Ali struck again
Each treachery is Al Hasan’s death repeated
Each lie is the betrayal of Al Husayn
Each exposed hair, the veil of Zaynab snatched
Each sin, an arrow striking the rose of Zahraa
Struck by calamities is she

Yet this is Zahraa who freshens our souls
Who sees only beauty at Karbalaa through Zaynab’s eyes
And pleaded for Him to take as He pleased
And who succeeded by the Lord of the Ka’abah
And whose shia cry today and respond ‘Labayk ya Husayn!’
To the query ‘Is there none amongst mankind to save us?’
Pleased with Him, pleasing to Him
Content was she, though
Struck by calamities was she.