All I asked...
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With Zahra’s prayers, there to protect you and me
Let fear not encroach you, Oh mothers of my community.
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I am Hazara (2)
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I am Hazara.
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Hussain’s Name
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(یا فاطمه زهرا (س
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Bibi, the last zarb is here to come
Your Hussain, to his wounds shall now succumb
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Your mother’s ribs, broke once again...
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I shiver thinking of your exhausted heart,
Faint with thirst, the blood-stained beard.
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Your longing for matam, has all been heard.
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For it is a promise we have made to our mother, Zahra (SA)
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Bil Hussain-i
[Baynul Haramain]
Footsteps syncing to the rhythm of my heart
as I traverse in wajd, between the two shrines.
“What has he lost who has found you?”
And to this zikr my heart has truly professed.
The sun, moon and all the constellations
Have all circled the court of this noble soil
in awe of the beauties adorning this land.
It is here, that I have seen
Expressions of faith
Whispered confessions
The tears of mourners and the cries of mothers
To the elegies that grows to a weight like grief.
And yet, amidst the sea of visitors arriving here
Ae Sakhi Ibne Sakhi,
Drowned in your love, humbled by your generosity
For never once, Ibne Zehra o Ali
Have you disregarded any one of your devotees.
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اللهی بلحسین
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Be a watcher
For sooner or later,
Right before your very eyes
A celebration will be hosted
By heavens, for the earth.
اللهم عجل لولیک الفرج
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With only a few days to go
before the auspicious dawn
Turns out
we’re rattled by the climate of uncertainty.
In moments like this, it just happens to be
we’re hurled into an unthinkable oblivion.
Tired, panic-stricken, grieving and isolated
The fifteenth this year, has dawned upon me.
Turns out
My Ariza this year will be my narrative
not wrapped up, handwritten and buried,
but ‘speaketh’ in words.
In a low broken voice, be read out to you.
Turns out
This year
I can feel your pain.
The empty shrines, the forsaken grounds
Suspended pilgrimage: masajid on lockdown.
If the world repents and tears swell up the oceans
By God, it is being away from you, that is greater grief.
Turns out
This fifteenth, in complete isolation
I can weep and wail, lament and cry (nudba)
only for your safety, only for your return.
— Sahar Hussain
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