Saturday, 31 October 2015

Never, o Zahra, shall we forget Husayn.

Who are these people, dressed in black clothes,
And from their eyes, rivers of tears flow?
Every year they gather and tell the tale complete
And weep and strike their chests with grief
Ten nights for ten heroes, all without compare
And all the tragedies relived on The Tenth Day
But some tragedies end as others just start
And more to come, more to break the heart
The sick one, the children, the women all captive
Yet still able to leave their tyrants in rapture
Wherever they go, torture and tragedy follow
And kept alive is this tale of great sorrow
These stories are told over and over again
For another forty days to add to the ten
And those who can, go visit that special land
Where holy blood was mixed with sand
Walking on foot, in their millions they arrive
A fire in their hearts that will not subside
On and on towards the King who rules their heart
Each step a renewed pledge to stay on his path
This devotion a part of their destiny and fate
And the true understanding of love and hate

There is only one way to measure love, the poets say.
“Love is measured in sacrifice”; no other way.
And so this tale of grief is also a tale of love
Not worldly love, but that for the Divine above
Seventy-two brave lions set aside their souls
In exchange for what would make them whole
Men aged and old to child and youth
Gladly exchanged their lives for truth

And from Husayn’s family the best of examples
Akbar, who was the Prophet’s own likeness
Qasim, who claimed death sweeter than honey
Asghar the sinless infant 6 months old
Killed for what crime we are not told.
Abbas, the brave, the gallant, the loyal
Matchless servant to the House of Purity
Denied his wish to quench the thirst of children
Giving his arms and then his soul in his mission
Husayn himself, the sacrifice supreme
Giving everything for the pleasure of His Lord
Till nothing was left except for his pure soul
The heftiest price to keep the religion whole
Sajjad, the captive ill one too sick to fight
Zaynab, his sister, witness of the tragedy
In captivity, and after, they kept the tale alive
From then till now, the remembrance thrives

Who are these people, dressed in black clothes,
And from their eyes, rivers of tears flow?
They are a promise made to the mother of Husayn
A nation will arise to ensure his legacy remains
Karbala and its history keeps their souls alive
Unites them and prevents the sects of divide
So they keep alive and tend this eternal light
And gather and grieve and their chests strike
Each strike a blow to the enemies of the Prophet,
Each strike a consolation to his daughter,
Each strike in grief of the tragedies of Husayn,
Each strike a promise to on his path remain,

ابد والله يا زهراء ما ننسى حسينا
Never, o Zahra, shall we forget Husayn.

Friday, 9 October 2015

[FICTION] The Alchemy of Love

I was fresh faced, filled with folly and my first infatuation when I went to see the alchemist for the first time.

I hesitated outside his heavy, thickset door, not knowing what to expect, and almost decided to turn back and forget the whole silly idea, but my heart decided for me. I knocked on the door, at first nervously, then with more confidence, then with impetuosity.

No response. Not even a sign that I had been heard- no sound of locks on the other side of the door being turned, no sound of footsteps shuffling inside, no windows lighting up from the inside; nothing. I was about to give up for the second time, when I witnessed something that I decided to take as a portent and stick to my quest.

I felt a cool breeze touching the side of my face, and when I turned to it, I saw rose petals swirling in the wind in a unique pattern. I stared, not believing what I saw. Roses did not grow in my hometown, and only the very rich were able to have these imported in for them. The delicate flowers were not suited to the hot, arid clime of our town, and so they withered quickly no matter how much water and nutrients they were given. The practice was to only have them for a few days, after which they were pressed and used for making rose-syrup.

However, what made me stare in near-disbelief was not the existence of these petals, (although that was pretty implausible in itself), but rather that the colours were blue. A unique, breathtaking cerulean blue.

I reached for them as they swirled in the breeze, but they kept on eluding my grasp, until finally I managed to retrieve one.

Holding it delicately, I turned it over in my palm to examine it when I finally heard signs of life behind the door of the house of the alchemist. I heard the whirr of heavy machinery and bolts sliding across doors, making their way vertically down the door. Each lock and bolt made a unique noise, and I counted each as it was done. When the door finally creaked open, I had counted nine locks. I wondered what he had to protect that he invested in so many locks for his door.

I started into the eyes of the man who now appeared before me. Of course, of course he didn’t look like how the rumours described him to be. I wondered why I believed them in the first place.

He was thickset but not overweight, and was middle aged. His hair was mostly jet black, but age was beginning to show in small flecks of white that were present in his hair, and his short, neat beard. His complexion was olive skinned, and his emerald-green eyes had shadows under them indicating prolonged periods without rest.

He fixed me with a withering glance, making me feel like an ant in the presence of a giant, and half-growled, half-questioned me.

“Did you get any rose petals?”

I hesitated. I don’t want to give away my prize so soon after working so hard for it, but I decided to trust him.

“Yes.”

“How many did you get?”

“One.”

“Fool. You should have got at least three. What do you want?”

I was stunned into silence. I knew what I wanted to ask him, but I couldn’t force the words out of my mouth.

“Well, what is it? Why have you disturbed the most important time of my day? Why are you here? What do you want!?”

I wanted to tell him. I really did. But I was in such awe of his presence that I just kept on opening and shutting my mouth like a goldfish.

He looked at me, and he must have understood. His face changed completely; before he had been looking at me with a mixture of amusement, curiosity, and scorn, now he was looking at me with barely disguised contempt.

“What’s her name?”

“W-what?”

“You heard me. What. Is. Her. Name?”

“L-L-Layla” He snorted with laughter.

“And what, is your name Majnoon?!”

I was shocked. I nodded slowly.

It was his turn to look shocked. Then he roared with laughter and slapped his thigh, looked at me again and laughed some more.

If I hadn’t been both extremely surprised at this turn of events, and not just a bit frightened out of my mind, I guess I should have been somewhat peeved.

Eventually he stopped laughing, and composed himself. He looked at me again and almost burst out laughing again, but just about kept himself under control.

“And…let me guess - you want a love potion to make Layla fall in love with you?”

I nodded nervously. I daren’t have hoped that I would have got what I wanted so quickly into my first meeting with him. And I was right - of course he wouldn’t give it to me.

“I’m not going to give it to you.”

My disappointment was clearly visible in my face, but it didn’t help my cause. He fixed me with a withering stare and spoke, calmly, evenly, but not disguising his contempt.

“I have spent my whole life learning the secrets of the unseen. I have learned how to transform base metal to gold. I have discovered the secret to immortality. I have riches that stretch beyond the material pale, which any king would trade his whole treasure hoard for just one. I have sat in the presence of beings hidden from your eye. And my most hardest achievement, the one that has cost me the most, has been the search of the recipe to a genuine love potion; the stuff of legend, a drink that turns two hearts towards each other. I have only just got got the formulation perfected two winters ago. And if you think that some lovesick fool is just going to knock on my door get my life’s work just by asking nicely, well, then you’re even more of a fool than I thought.”

“But sir! I will do anything for it. I must have that potion!!”

“You are not getting that potion. But I will give you this bit of advice, for free. Never *ever* let anyone know how much you want something, because your bargaining position immediately weakens.”

“It doesn’t matter to you, sir. You have everything you want, yes?”

“Not…quite.” He chuckled, and his eyes softened a little towards me. “Tell me, young lover…is this your first infatuation?”

“No, sir!!” I was more than just a little angered by that question. “Do not insult me. This is no infatuation - this is true love!”

“All right, all right - this is your first and only time in love?”

“Yes”

“And does she even know you exist?”

I faltered, and gazed at the floor. “I…I…I do not know.” I raised my eyes to meet his, and then spoke the truth that I had tried to hide.

“No.”

“You are a fool, but at least you are an honest fool. I will make a deal with you. If you do 5 quests for me, and one trade, then I will give you the formulation to the potion. And because I know human nature, the antidote I will let you have for free. Into the bargain, it will be most educational for you, and most amusing for me.”

“I accept.”

“The trade first - Give me the blue petal that you have just got.”

I reluctantly handed it over.

“The first quest is this. There is a flower related to the one that sheds the petal you just gave me. It, however, has gold petals, and is set to bloom on a full moon in the middle of winter, on the top of the mountain range a few leagues to the West. It will take you 2 months to travel there, and the middle of winter is 3 months away. You had better start tonight. Good luck.”

We shook hands, and I turned to head off.

“Lad!”

I turned around.

“Take a sword.”

[END]

Sunday, 4 October 2015

The Jewel of Qum

I

A golden dome astride two turquoise towers
Gifts from artisans, lords of great power
Shimmering fountains, Arabesques, tilework abound
But real beauty lies buried beneath the ground

II

The people of Qum call on one and all
"Come see the gem that has us all enthralled
Come visit her who has blessed this our town
Come visit her who turns fortunes around
Be you ill in mind, body, heart or soul
Ask, and her gift will be to make you whole
Plead your wishes until you have none left
Her grace is such that none are left bereft

III

I know my presence here is from her call
I know that I will miss this when I'm gone
I know this place now in my heart resides
I know all this and more besides
But I know this to be true most of all
I do not wish to leave her blessed hall

IV

I will leave soon, but my heart will remain
And work and wait for my invite again

01/10/15, Qum, in the presence of Our Lady.