Ya Mawla,
I wonder if it even fair
To ask myself who I was
If ever anything I was,
Before I met you,
Before I loved you.
I wonder how to call this state,
When one is just a scattered possibility,
When a human being is just
The random aggregation
Of barely pulsating dust.
I wonder how to call this state
When eyes perceive nothing more
Than a twinkling candle’s light
Fading away in the depths
of its existence’s vicinity
I wonder how to call a life
When air means survival,
Where water is stagnant,
Where love’s fragrance does not exist.
I wonder how to call this existence
When your wings are just an attire,
When your cage becomes your world
When flying is a word, unfurling just a sound.
I wonder how to call a vein
Whose blood does not circumbulate
Like a pen that does not spiral
Like brush that does not strike.
I guess it is not fair
To say that I existed
That my tongue tasted life
Before it whispered your name.
Ya Ali,
I guess it is not fair
To call this piece of flesh a heart
Before it started beating
Before it met your gaze,
Ya Mawla,
And if a bird is a bird
Only when it flies
Just like a wave is alive
Only when it crashes
I guess I was only that which one is,
When one is not, whatever that is
I was Nothing.
I guess I was the space which one occupies
When one is not, wherever that is.
I was Empty
I guess I was the moment which exists
When one is not, whenever that is.
I was Absent
This.
This is what i was,
If ever anything I was,
Before I met you,
Before I loved you,
Ya Wali Allah.
*Peace be upon you,
The uprooter of hidden polytheism,
The distinguished and learned,
Ali,
The Prince of the Faithful
*Ziyarat Nahya
