Whilst picking the thorns of a crumbled flower out of my feet
I saw a caravan approaching in the desert heat
I squinted, trying to decipher what I was gazing upon
Blinded by their noor, I was forced to accept they were lesser than none
Unscripted they approached me and asked me to show them Karbala
Startled–I moved back in surprise, rummaging my mind
Crushed–I showed them as they followed behind
I lurked near them as they approached an open desert
Closing my eyes, I tried warning them of the hazards
But not a single sound escaped my lips
Parched, tears rolled down my cheeks
It was my own heart that I had to grip
Veiled faces towering above me, strength of a woman
The voice of Ali
I shuddered, remembering him who the Prophet designated mawla
I wondered what connection these people had with the Almighty Allah
“Brother I am here,”
suddenly I heard
“Brother I am here
Broken and askew
I left your daughter in prison
What else would you have me do?”
I was unable to mourn, unable to lament
Brother, I ask you,
“When will I be to heaven, sent?”
I witnessed calamity and open bazaars
I’ll unveil my shoulders so you can see my scars
I carried Sajjad,
I carried your sons
I carried your daughters
For me, there was none
I spoke in a court, in front of men who gazed
Openly, unnervingly, upon my face
My voice, it thundered, and echoed with might
Brother, not once did I complain in respite
I went through these pains, only so I could see you again
Brother, wake up
From your slumber of the slain
Sleepless and tortured, your daughter spent her last days
Restless I watched her, hoping to ease her pain
While soothing her bleeding ears,
I cried out in vain
“Oh Ali, adrikni,
Only your help can sustain!”
I was transformed from Karbala to the land of Najaf
The resting place of Ali, the sword of the Adl (justice)
I gazed upon his tomb and distressingly, I uttered
“I’m here to complain,
Why did you leave Zainab alone?
Why did you not help her on the night
when all the strength was in her bones?
Where was your might when your daughter strove?
Like a soldier in a battlefield, into the burning tents, she dove…”
Disturbed and conflicted by my inner turmoil
I ran between Najaf and Karbala
In what seemed like a short mile
To hear Zainab give testimony of her pain
To hear Zainab give testimony of her strength
To hear Zainab was enough to wrench my heart and drain
To hear Zainab, I’m not worthy of such a gain
