today

as i walked in the park

my son in his stroller

it was as if the entire universe

let out a deep sigh

for Husayn

–

to the eye

people laughed and joked

ate their lunch

or kissed their lover

unaware that the entire canvas

upon which their lives were painted

was weaved with

ya Husayn

–

one of my most learned teachers whispered to me once

that ibn ‘arabi was in the greenery of al-andalus

if that is true

then the whole cosmos screams

ya Husayn

–

the historian looks at pious narrations

or ancient volumes written by systematizing minds

maybe even secondary literature that flows from barren hearts

but for me

there is a moment in the park

when Husayn’s final breath

was more real than me

or my son

or anyone else