I was told as a child that stories have happy endings ,
But Hussain your stories and tragedies are never ending,
Despite my love for you ,
I know my loyalty isn’t true ,
My sins are evident and nothing new,
My manners and good deeds are little and few,
Why do tears make rivers in the garden of your love?
Why isn’t there a shining moon in the skies above?
Why do they fly with broken wings those little doves?
Why do those hearts keep breaking, aren’t they broken enough?
The heavens tremble,
The angels cry,
Roqayyah is lost,
My heart has died.
Take me to Karbala,
To see Hussain,
And to Baqi to see,
Sajjad with chains.
With an uneasy heart,
I will soon depart ,
To the curer of this endless disease ,
With his arrow pierced heart,
With the names of his slaughtered sons,
Where in the ocean of love ,
Each particle is an article of pain,
Written with the blood of Hussain,
As the small fire has now grown ,
From a small flame that was once known,
As the candle that whispers on its own,
Alongside the winds of the martyrs,
As the breaths of Roqayyah’s father,
Cools the sun of our souls down ,
Springs flowers from the desert ground.
In the night of love that always goes past,
Behind the clouds of protection , in the sky is Abbas,
Where he is the shade of my love,
With no arms , he looks above ,
And prays with the arrows in his chest,
For the earth to soften for the feet of his guests ,
That visit his shrine under Karbala’s heat.
In the street, I am that nightingale ,
Who recites his lullaby and wails,
Lonely like Yunus in the whale,
Not worthy to you oh my ageless king,
I am that deranged man who is lost,
With bruises on his eyes caused by his own hands,
With sore feet walking shoeless on your lands,
So I ask you ,
The speaking Quran on the spear,
Whose name is written in every tear,
To choose me and cure me ,
From the corner of your eye,
Let me attach my heart to the 6 sides ,
Of your holy golden shrine.
Written by Zaigham Hussain