how can i find the words to express what i feel

my road to Muhammad goes through Husayn

it can be no other way

Karbala is Madina

Madina is Karbala

 

how can i sleep

for when i wake

something may distract me

from thinking of you

all i have is these moments

with aching legs

wishing to walk to you

and bloodshot eyes

longing to see you

 

in my heart

i can imagine the scene

one foot on earth

the other in Heaven

but i can only see a glimpse

of the beauty revealed

to Zaynab

 

i ultimately care not

for centuries of discourse

nor cultural continuity and contestation

they are only a means

so may this poem be obliterated to history

if it is nothing more

than a paragraph in someone’s dry essay

about 21st-century English lamentation poetry

 

what matters only

is if there is any sincerity

– a secret known only to al-Khabir –

behind the tears welling in my eyes

and the burning in my chest

as i dream of standing before your palace in Heaven

my fist about to knock on your door

a long journey’s end

 

what would i do at that moment

when you opened it

would i throw my arms around you

and sob on your shoulder

or lower my head in awe

unable to move

until you tell me what to do

 

i am nothing compared to you

nor will i ever be

but hope in Mercy

means it is all possible

 

please

whatever happens

and however my life unfolds

and in whatever state i die

i simply ask that you overlook my manifest faults

and take me by the hand

to introduce me

to your grandfather

 

i can no longer imagine visiting him for the first time

without you

 

“…Husayn is from me and I am from Husayn…”

 

Allahumma salli ‘ala Muhammad wa ali Muhammad