Then & Now, Imam Hussain (as) Poetry Competition

Salam Alaykom,

As we are nearing the final few hours of Safar and will be heading into the month of Rabi' al Awal, (khallas safar, yaana rbee3.. ya Mohammed, ya shafee3!) I would like to take this chance to share this quick poem with yourselves. I submitted it to the Imam Hussain (as) Poetry contest that was set up by Al-Shaheed Al-Sadr Office and SOAS University ABSOC. May I just say, I was left in awe at the poetry that emerged from the hidden, yet extremely talented members of our community.. I really do recommend that you all check out the videos as soon as they're up on YouTube.

I leave you now with my short poem which is written in the name of the unsung heroine of Karbala, Sayyeda Zainab (as), entitled "Then and Now".


Upon the same time each year, thousands flock my way,
As the migrating birds, they visit me and in my courtyard pray,
Yet even in death, I know no peace and while in my grave lay,
My visitors are not allowed to condole and console me, even upon the most tragic day.

And what day is it that I speak of, I hear you ask?
It is one that shaped history, when Hussain was assigned the task,
To save Islam and stand against tyranny, to make it a thing of the past,
Though he was slain, he did not fail but on that day, he broke my heart.

For after I saw Hussain upon the sand, head upon a spear illuminating the sky,
I could not help but wish it was me, that indeed he had not died,
And though I gave four upon that day, it was mainly for two my heart sighed,
One trampled by horses upon his death, another by Forat his body did lie.

And woe upon the calamities my eyes witnessed after I lost Abbas and Hussain,
Wrists garnished with shackles, arms swollen, shaped by blows and trounced,
I walked in the company of the heads, and with every step, my brothers denounced,
Through Karbala and Kufa until the day, of our cursed entrance to the doom of Damascus.

I left my soul in Karbala to guard the bodies, battered and torn into pieces,
But the rest of me remained with the orphans, guarding them in these terrible places,
One after the other, these women and children with pain died, their body and soul knowing no peace,
They say calamity crowned me a Queen, but what Queen is taunted from ruins to palaces?

I am Zainab the Queen who saw, only terror, torment, bloodshed and woe,
I earned the right to be visited and consoled and I promise that under my dome,
You can name your wishes and by the Lord, they will be granted before you go home.
Upon the Fortieth do not be dissuaded, fear none but Allah and to my grave come.

The irony is that till this day, I am surrounded by the same tyranny in this destitute world,
Fathers slaughtered, children orphaned, women taunted and constant abuse hurled,
What has changed between then and now, not much for our followers are still as toiled,
Only when my nephew will rise, will my tormented soul see and end to its turmoil.

Upon the same time each year, thousands flock my way,
As the migrating birds, they visit me and in my courtyard pray,
Yet even in death, I know no peace and while in my grave lay,
I await your return, my dear nephew Mahdi and to see the dawn of your day.

08/12/12

Until next time..
Ws


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