V for Victory

Dreams shaped on violence and oppression,

Hopes crushed through military might; and

The imprint of satan’s mace.

Houses built on the echoing rubble of homes,

Policies shaped on abuse and bigotry.

Forgetting the recompense awaiting you in the eternal abode,

You keep on, proud of your perceived victories;

For every funeral you caused,

Every bride you widowed,

Every child you crippled,

Every son you orphaned,

Every mother you caused to mourn,

Every father you left helpless,

Every orphan you left in pangs of hunger,

Every family you left desolate,

Every home you tore apart,

brick by brick,

Every existence you threatened,

Every planted grove you ripped from the earth,

Every protected camp you shelled with bombs and gas,

Every oppressed voice you stifled; and

Every breath you suffocated.

Surprised and enraged by our resilient existence,

You forget your motto keeps us going:

From God we are, and to Him we must surely return!

Firm in the defence of our homeland,

The land of saints and prophets,

The land blessed by Isa (as), Muhammad (saw) and Mahdi (atf)

Quds - the land of the free.

Where death from your hands is anticipated; and

Victory from God assured!

S.A

The Deserted Sanctuary

For a thirty day season,
the tears flow freely -
like a river.
Glistening pools of submission
gathered through realisation,
Realisation through confession,
Confession as a result of reflection.
Reflections illuminating the chamber;
Revealing rust and emptiness.
Thus the river flows -
from the lips to the heart,
Making a home in the sanctuary,
Accepting the invitation,
for now... 


S.A

By The Lord Of The Ka'abah!

The dawn of this day arose with a burden…
Burdened by the looming loss of a treasure golden…
Golden and worth beyond any human treasure…
A treasure by the standards of Allah’s measure.

A poisoned sword soaked for three days in venom…
Venom meant to silence the voice of human justice…
Justice so wide and perfect it would not waste a public candle…
Justice both friend and foe got from the same handle.

Cowardice is required to carry out such deed…
The deed of orphaning twice orphans and widows…
Muting the tongue of the truthful oppressed servants.

Oppressions against him  pile high and wide…
In life and after death, centuries later…
First depriving him of a position granted by Allah…
Then his wife, the keeper of his secrets and sorrows…
Denying the faith of his noble father…
Condemning the Prophet’s protector to the confines of hell…
Equating the Imam to muawiyah and ibn al aas.

Poisoning his son, Imam al Hasan…
Stripping the veil of his daughter Zaynab…
Leaving to die thirsty at a shore;
Armless, an arrow in Abbas’s eye…
Yet the oppressions cease not…
…grow on…

Al Husayn ibn Ali is not spared even in prayer…
Even after he has been bereft of the support of his men…
The sword of ibn muljim falls and struck the Imam in Kufa…
… Splitting his head open…
And his sons took him home, a lion supported by lions…
The sword of shimr falls and strikes the Imam’s son in Karbala…
… Severing his head…
Who will carry him home…?
…Where is home…
Where are his sons...?
His sons lay silent… even Ali Asghar not spared…
The earth will carry Husayn…
Witnessing the trampling of hooves
…And the crushing of bones…
Yet the oppressions go on.

It suffices them not to perpetuate such injustice…
They curse him on the pulpits for forty dark years!
But no injustice can reduce the status of Ameerul Mu’mineen…
…Born in the Ka’abah
A life of service, long nights of worship…
Fatally struck, prostrating in a mosque…
Welcoming his imminent death with a cry of love…
…I have succeeded, by the Lord of the Ka’abah!

S.A 

Draped In Black

The valley of Hijaaz is in darkened, mourning and in tears,
Today, after so long, Rasul hears the enemies mocking jeers,
As his confidant lay silent, the comforter of his fears,
He knows this will be the most burdened of funeral biers;
That which bears the wife of Muhammad, Nabi al Khitaam,
The pure Lady Khadijatul Kubra, Ummul aytaam

When the boycott came, she went with him to the valley that was forsaken,
Where on good days, dried up roots are cooked and as food taken,
A place of hunger and thirst, and firm faith that remained unshaken.
Faithful and content she remained, for her soul had been awaken,
By the message of Rasul; of which she knew he was not mistaken.

On her death bed she is sad for she knows Fatima has no other,
Fatima, who must now grow up and face life without a mother.

Her wish to see her daughter all grown and dressed up as a bride,
Giving her final advices as she supports her in her motherly stride,
She will no longer be there to dry Zahra’s tears when she cried,
Or to listen to her husband as he told her of the pain inside.

The motherly wishes she will not live to see, and asks Rasul to take special care
For the days that are coming for little Fatima, to imagine I will not dare.

Nothing remains in her name from her wealth that was so vast,
And the description of her final shroud will make you aghast.
Thus Khadijah the first and firmest Muslimah breathes her last
In the name of Allah, and in the faith to which she held fast,
She who covered the Prophet and the orphans, today there is no cloth to cover her.
How? The injustice, persecution and oppression make your eyes with tears blur.

Rasul digs her grave with his own two hands,
Then lay for a while on its dark cool sands.
In it he must lay to rest the most excellent and patient of wives,
Who was convinced and supported him when others chose to spare their lives.
When he felt lonely and deserted, burdened by the trials of this world,
She enlivened his heart, and cushioned it against the insults that were hurled.
Then he lays her in it, entrusting her to Allah,
Surely we are from Allah, and our return is to Allah!

How can he forget her, she whose love was given to him by the Divine,
Nor can we forget her, in our hearts this day we enshrine.
A day so dark, in the year of unending sorrows,
Draped in black, standing out against all the morrows.


Salaamullah 'Alayki ya Ummul Mu'mineena wal Mu'minaat Khadijatul Kubra.

S.A



Ziarat of Lady Khadijah 

The Injustice Of The Pens

History has recorded many atrocities,
Injustices and killings, the open war against truth.
Few stand out like this against one man,
Who dedicated his life to support Rasul.
The one whom the Prophet referred to as ‘Father!’
The father of Ali, a man like no other.

Despite the proofs of his unshakeable faith,
And the numerous evidences of the God he worshipped;
Despite his constant acknowledgement of his nephew as Prophet,
The divinely appointed guide and leader of mankind;
Despite his love and poetry of praise for Muhammad,
Which leave the reader no choice but to acknowledge his submission;
Yet they deny his faith, and call him an open disbeliever.

Only a man of true belief could have raised three lions,
Whose actions and bravery charted the course of history:
Muhammad his nephew; Ali and Ja’far his sons
Do they not know the religious rulings on inheritance?
For they claim he died a disbeliever,
Yet acknowledge he was inherited by two believers!
How do they summon the audacity to deny him his right
Nay, deny him completely; and say with a sagely air:
Oh what a loss to have protected Rasul in this life
Then end in the hell fire in the next!

For what purpose did the pens wish to slay him
And commit an injustice to lady Fatima bint Asad
Making a believing woman the wife of a disbeliever?
One would need to look at the trends of the time,
And realize at whom this hate and slander was directed
Unable to obliterate the radiant praise of Ali’s faith
Spelt out in the Qur’an and the words of the Prophet,
They chose instead to vilify his father,
Then they could say: the [pious] son of a disbeliever!

By God, though your pens wish to strike and inflict pain
And cause to tears to Rasul and his brother Ali,
We will declare our love for the oppressed believer Abu Talib,
Whose oppression continues long after he has died.


S.A