--
Poems by Miss Fatima Ali, (USA)
--
--
Matami
For everyone---especially my baby
sis, Tabassum Baji, Zainab and Hiba. I can't forget my Henna Baji, Kubra Aunty,
Amera Aunty and so many others. Alhamdolillah for all blessings, especially
those that come in the form of role models.
~~~
This friend has been your guiding
light, a worthy teacher and a noble sage,
From day one the Almighty did gift
you with, this friend so small, yet full of power,
You owe this friend so very much,
it is the center of your every beauty,
Some say this care is only physical,
to keep your friend in the best of health,
What is this wealth but that
priceless gift, that gift which is the most profound treasure,
So who is your friend, that
closest one, from whom you are never distant or apart?
You exist as one, for without your
friend, you could not go about your active day,
On this earth, until Allah wills,
for the heart to stop its continued beat,
What is this treat, you wonder and
ask, it is simple, for the one whose heart is pure,
Every act, every deed you engage
in, is linked to that love, that unbreakable bond,
Think about your daily deeds, the
wajibaat and those that you do out of good,
There are numerous deeds we place
daily in our hearts, to keep it enlightened, indeed glowing and bright,
Of all these acts, there is one
that I cherish, in a way that the tongue cannot truly express,
The Queen of my soul and my truest
friend, the heart--is none other than the daughter of the Prophet of Allah,
The act that I speak of is one we
repeat, it is a motion of hands, an expression of pain,
This love for Husayn is the love
of Muhammad, and love of Muhammad is the love of Allah,
Do you think your matam is only in
sadness, an act that is due to the shedding of tears?
The words recited do echo in your
thoughts, you repeat the phrases but have you ever been lost,
In this stage you stand as living
proof, of the fulfilled du’a of that Holiest One,
Every slap to your chest should
not be of habit, but of awareness that Husayn is the Savior of Deen,
For Yazid and today’s deniers of
Truth, every slap on your chest is a slap to their face,
Though unaware of the depth of our
sacredly held love, they perhaps realize there is a bond that we hold,
We amass together, brothers and
sisters, standing in the day and the hours of night,
Beyond the weakness, the shortness
of breath, for there is a truth inside you that keeps you calm,
To Sayyid ash-Shuhada, indeed all
of Ahlulbayt, and to each believer, every sister and brother,
In the stage where you achieve
this awareness so high, you will feel that your matam does profoundly
transform,
You breath becomes tasbeeh,
salawat and la’an, for you know saying Ya Husayn is confirmation of Truth,
Pray for that moment when your
matam elevates, to the status of the beat of your ever faithful heart,
To remain firm in our faith, in
this moment and always, followers of Islam, lovers of your family,
-Fatima Ali
--
26 May 2013
Each in creation, does have a purpose, from the sand to the skies, and all in
between,
From the small to the grand, every inch of this world, was created by neither, man
nor machine.
But by He who does state, Be and it is--Kun fa Yakoon--is His Power and Right,
By Him the universe, exists--and no doubt, to Him belongs all, in your reach
and your sight.
The first in creation, were of and from Him--indeed
these Ones, were made manifest,
Through His very Essence, His Light and His Glory;
they are His Signs, His Traits expressed.
One Sign is he, the second we know, in the Divine
Perfect Chain, of the Holy Fourteen,
That singular Commander, of all of the Faithful,
the one--the only, Ameer ul-Momineen.
The defender of Faith, and vanguard of Truth; a
teacher and example, for those willing to learn,
His lessons are countless, his teacher--the
greatest, and his words do feed, those souls which yearn.
Yearn and thirst, for guidance and answers, to
those questions which plague, your center, your core:
Who is our Creator? Why should we worship? What is
this life, and its purpose for?
He may answer, "Say: Allah is One," He is
the Source of all, that was, is or will be,
Serve Him because He, is worthy of such, to Him you
owe all; He creates Destiny.
The goal in this life, is ma'rifah, recognition,
achieve the awareness, of who and what is Allah,
Grow close; inch near--to Him through good deeds,
in this world: Dunya, for the next: Akhirah.
The acts of worship, are varied and many, yet
require a ground, a place to begin,
The heart is that soil, firm and sincere, our
actions do sprout, from this garden within.
The garden, its rain--is the blessings of Rahman,
He whom the body, and the soul strive to reach,
While its light is mawaddah--that love, the
affection, for those who indeed, were Lights sent to preach.
If there is one color, one scent in your garden,
which blooms from within, and guides your very deeds,
It is your akhlaq: morality and character, those
traits from which every, action proceeds.
Look to your Ameer, and his blessed speech; his
words are a parable, for the garden of your heart,
Be, he says, like the flower that gives, fragrance
to even, the hand crushing it, apart.
This fragrance is what--but your goodness exuded;
your persona and being, how you are perceived,
Strong morals and kindness, and of course
thoughtful speech, these traits are of those, whose souls have believed.
Just as the flower, we must release, only this
goodness, in all times of day,
Know that your actions, and your interactions, are
always--like the flower, on continued display.
Thus even when strife, and harm come to you, it is
your duty, that your pleasant scent,
Does sprinkle and spread, upon each you encounter,
as a breeze of nothing, but a righteous intent.
In the face of angst, and those who do crush,
remember your scent, your akhlaq is your guide,
Is it your moral compass, it cannot deplete; for
its fragrance is fueled, by what you hold inside.
And if there is one, a most perfect flower, whose
fragrance is sweetest, in all of the land,
It is the one whose scent, is direct from the
Heavens, she whose rank, we cannot understand.
She is the comfort, the very soul between, the
sides of the Prophet, of Rasoolullah,
And he had declared, "When I long for the
fragrance, of Paradise I smell, the neck of Fatima."
The Most Pure, the paramount Queen she is, and her
morals, her traits, must be known by the nation,
For she is Zahra, whose Radiance extends, through
the earth and the heavens, through all of creation.
A teacher she is, as her husband and father,
lessons she gave--this you must know,
And her status is such, that her very fragrance,
emits till this day, it continues to flow.
It flows through those traits, reflected
perfection: truthfulness, bravery, and patience, sincere,
Forbearance and charity, and ultimate piety, these
are of Zahra, and they are ever clear.
When this flawless flower, was crushed by the
wicked, and her right was taken, how did she react?
Her speech was reminders, from her Holy father, and
words of Quran, unparalleled fact.
My Mowla Ameer, how did he describe, his love, this
flower, of the most special kind?
Nipped in the bud, it came from heaven, and to
heaven it went, leaving a fragrance in his mind.
Barely two decades, this flower had grown, yet its
essence, its being, indeed it had thrived,
For Zahra, this bright flower, has a legacy strong,
and through her pious children, her traits have survived.
And her final son, what does he say; he by whose
sake, this earth is still whole,
He takes his dear mother, as a role model defined,
she is for him, both a peak and a goal.
"In the daughter of the Prophet, of Allah
there is, a superior exemplar, for me," he declares,
Our living Imam, the Master of this Age, learns
from Zahra, how to handle affairs.
So when you consider, the garden of your heart,
remember the words of Ali and take heed,
Let goodness and truth, and all noble traits, flow
from your self, from your every deed.
And what better model, exists than his flower,
Fatima, Zahra, the Radiant rose of Ali,
If you seek to embody, the words of Ameer, and to
nourish your garden, then like Fatima, be.
-Fatima Ali
Rajab 1434
--
For everyone---especially my baby
sis, Tabassum Baji, Zainab and Hiba. I can't forget my Henna Baji, Kubra Aunty,
Amera Aunty and so many others. Alhamdolillah for all blessings, especially
those that come in the form of role models.
~~~
How can you know your truest
friend, the one who never leaves your side,
That friend who keeps you away
from sin, like lying, anger and selfish pride?
This friend has been your guiding
light, a worthy teacher and a noble sage,
To know how long it has been with
you, reflect on your years, your very age.
From day one the Almighty did gift
you with, this friend so small, yet full of power,
And this is the reason why upon
your self, your Creator’s blessings do always shower.
You owe this friend so very much,
it is the center of your every beauty,
So care for it, nourish its
growth; this is not only your Islamic, but your human duty.
Some say this care is only physical,
to keep your friend in the best of health,
While this is true, the more pious
task, is to give your friend that abundant wealth.
What is this wealth but that
priceless gift, that gift which is the most profound treasure,
This gift of wilayah, the love of
Ahlulbayt, is that wealth which leads you to Allah’s Pleasure.
So who is your friend, that
closest one, from whom you are never distant or apart?
That friend is the one who holds
this love, and who keeps you living, your beating heart.
You exist as one, for without your
friend, you could not go about your active day,
The steps you take, each breath of
yours, are due to the fact that your friend does stay...
On this earth, until Allah wills,
for the heart to stop its continued beat,
Thus it is only fair that while in
this world, you provide your friend with the greatest treat.
What is this treat, you wonder and
ask, it is simple, for the one whose heart is pure,
You fill your heart with
remembrance of Allah, and the Ones He created this universe for.
Every act, every deed you engage
in, is linked to that love, that unbreakable bond,
Mind, body and soul meet in the
heart, that gateway which brings you to your me’raj and beyond.
Think about your daily deeds, the
wajibaat and those that you do out of good,
Mustahab acts, the kindness you
show, and the ways in which you make Deen understood.
There are numerous deeds we place
daily in our hearts, to keep it enlightened, indeed glowing and bright,
Some are enacted in the public of
day, while others we quietly perform in the night.
Of all these acts, there is one
that I cherish, in a way that the tongue cannot truly express,
For this act is due to the du’a
and love, of that One, who relieves my every distress.
The Queen of my soul and my truest
friend, the heart--is none other than the daughter of the Prophet of Allah,
Her names are many, her titles so
lofty, yet all we need to say is that she is Fatima.
The act that I speak of is one we
repeat, it is a motion of hands, an expression of pain,
Yet it is so much more, that we
must recognize, it is a flag of love for Imam Al-Husayn.
This love for Husayn is the love
of Muhammad, and love of Muhammad is the love of Allah,
Do you see why this act, the matam
of the momineen, is a manifested reality of the command of tawalla?
Do you think your matam is only in
sadness, an act that is due to the shedding of tears?
Tears are the origin as the mind
visits the tragedies, but there is a power you hold while standing with your
peers...
The words recited do echo in your
thoughts, you repeat the phrases but have you ever been lost,
To the point where you moved
beyond history and words, to a stage which you don’t want to return from, once
crossed?
In this stage you stand as living
proof, of the fulfilled du’a of that Holiest One,
While in these moments you leave
all else, to remember the Truth of her oppressed son.
Every slap to your chest should
not be of habit, but of awareness that Husayn is the Savior of Deen,
Without that sacrifice and his
adherence to Haqq, where would the worship of Allah be seen?
For Yazid and today’s deniers of
Truth, every slap on your chest is a slap to their face,
Why else would the hypocrites be
scared of our masses, of majalis and matam in any given place?
Though unaware of the depth of our
sacredly held love, they perhaps realize there is a bond that we hold,
We lovers of Ahlulbayt who cling
to wilayah--our strength, through this single action is told...
We amass together, brothers and
sisters, standing in the day and the hours of night,
Tired you may be, as your body
needs rest, yet you continue as the azadar, your blood tells you to fight...
Beyond the weakness, the shortness
of breath, for there is a truth inside you that keeps you calm,
Your hand raises up like la’an on
the wicked, then falls to your heart as if saying salaam...
To Sayyid ash-Shuhada, indeed all
of Ahlulbayt, and to each believer, every sister and brother,
For together InshaAllah, we
momineen will be successful, by our actions in this world, leading to our rank
in the other.
In the stage where you achieve
this awareness so high, you will feel that your matam does profoundly
transform,
You are no longer even listening
to the noha recited, you are instead in a place beyond the edges of norm.
You breath becomes tasbeeh,
salawat and la’an, for you know saying Ya Husayn is confirmation of Truth,
You and your true friend, that
heart now beating faster, are servants of the Almighty, my dear elders and
youth.
Pray for that moment when your
matam elevates, to the status of the beat of your ever faithful heart,
All else disappears, while your
inner self does declare, Ya Zahra let this action be the means for our start...
To remain firm in our faith, in
this moment and always, followers of Islam, lovers of your family,
For it is only through ma’rifah,
that awareness of Truth, by which we can become the true matami.
-Fatima Ali
Safar 1433
26 May 2013
Be.
Each in creation, does have a purpose, from the sand to the skies, and all in between,
From the small to the grand, every inch of this world, was created by neither, man nor machine.
But by He who does state, Be and it is--Kun fa Yakoon--is His Power and Right,
By Him the universe, exists--and no doubt, to Him belongs all, in your reach and your sight.
The first in creation, were of and from Him--indeed these Ones, were made manifest,
Through His very Essence, His Light and His Glory; they are His Signs, His Traits expressed.
One Sign is he, the second we know, in the Divine Perfect Chain, of the Holy Fourteen,
That singular Commander, of all of the Faithful, the one--the only, Ameer ul-Momineen.
The defender of Faith, and vanguard of Truth; a teacher and example, for those willing to learn,
His lessons are countless, his teacher--the greatest, and his words do feed, those souls which yearn.
Yearn and thirst, for guidance and answers, to those questions which plague, your center, your core:
Who is our Creator? Why should we worship? What is this life, and its purpose for?
He may answer, "Say: Allah is One," He is the Source of all, that was, is or will be,
Serve Him because He, is worthy of such, to Him you owe all; He creates Destiny.
The goal in this life, is ma'rifah, recognition, achieve the awareness, of who and what is Allah,
Grow close; inch near--to Him through good deeds, in this world: Dunya, for the next: Akhirah.
The acts of worship, are varied and many, yet require a ground, a place to begin,
The heart is that soil, firm and sincere, our actions do sprout, from this garden within.
The garden, its rain--is the blessings of Rahman, He whom the body, and the soul strive to reach,
While its light is mawaddah--that love, the affection, for those who indeed, were Lights sent to preach.
If there is one color, one scent in your garden, which blooms from within, and guides your very deeds,
It is your akhlaq: morality and character, those traits from which every, action proceeds.
Look to your Ameer, and his blessed speech; his words are a parable, for the garden of your heart,
Be, he says, like the flower that gives, fragrance to even, the hand crushing it, apart.
This fragrance is what--but your goodness exuded; your persona and being, how you are perceived,
Strong morals and kindness, and of course thoughtful speech, these traits are of those, whose souls have believed.
Just as the flower, we must release, only this goodness, in all times of day,
Know that your actions, and your interactions, are always--like the flower, on continued display.
Thus even when strife, and harm come to you, it is your duty, that your pleasant scent,
Does sprinkle and spread, upon each you encounter, as a breeze of nothing, but a righteous intent.
In the face of angst, and those who do crush, remember your scent, your akhlaq is your guide,
Is it your moral compass, it cannot deplete; for its fragrance is fueled, by what you hold inside.
And if there is one, a most perfect flower, whose fragrance is sweetest, in all of the land,
It is the one whose scent, is direct from the Heavens, she whose rank, we cannot understand.
She is the comfort, the very soul between, the sides of the Prophet, of Rasoolullah,
And he had declared, "When I long for the fragrance, of Paradise I smell, the neck of Fatima."
The Most Pure, the paramount Queen she is, and her morals, her traits, must be known by the nation,
For she is Zahra, whose Radiance extends, through the earth and the heavens, through all of creation.
A teacher she is, as her husband and father, lessons she gave--this you must know,
And her status is such, that her very fragrance, emits till this day, it continues to flow.
It flows through those traits, reflected perfection: truthfulness, bravery, and patience, sincere,
Forbearance and charity, and ultimate piety, these are of Zahra, and they are ever clear.
When this flawless flower, was crushed by the wicked, and her right was taken, how did she react?
Her speech was reminders, from her Holy father, and words of Quran, unparalleled fact.
My Mowla Ameer, how did he describe, his love, this flower, of the most special kind?
Nipped in the bud, it came from heaven, and to heaven it went, leaving a fragrance in his mind.
Barely two decades, this flower had grown, yet its essence, its being, indeed it had thrived,
For Zahra, this bright flower, has a legacy strong, and through her pious children, her traits have survived.
And her final son, what does he say; he by whose sake, this earth is still whole,
He takes his dear mother, as a role model defined, she is for him, both a peak and a goal.
"In the daughter of the Prophet, of Allah there is, a superior exemplar, for me," he declares,
Our living Imam, the Master of this Age, learns from Zahra, how to handle affairs.
So when you consider, the garden of your heart, remember the words of Ali and take heed,
Let goodness and truth, and all noble traits, flow from your self, from your every deed.
And what better model, exists than his flower, Fatima, Zahra, the Radiant rose of Ali,
If you seek to embody, the words of Ameer, and to nourish your garden, then like Fatima, be.
-Fatima Ali
Rajab 1434
Each in creation, does have a purpose, from the sand to the skies, and all in between,
From the small to the grand, every inch of this world, was created by neither, man nor machine.
But by He who does state, Be and it is--Kun fa Yakoon--is His Power and Right,
By Him the universe, exists--and no doubt, to Him belongs all, in your reach and your sight.
The first in creation, were of and from Him--indeed these Ones, were made manifest,
Through His very Essence, His Light and His Glory; they are His Signs, His Traits expressed.
One Sign is he, the second we know, in the Divine Perfect Chain, of the Holy Fourteen,
That singular Commander, of all of the Faithful, the one--the only, Ameer ul-Momineen.
The defender of Faith, and vanguard of Truth; a teacher and example, for those willing to learn,
His lessons are countless, his teacher--the greatest, and his words do feed, those souls which yearn.
Yearn and thirst, for guidance and answers, to those questions which plague, your center, your core:
Who is our Creator? Why should we worship? What is this life, and its purpose for?
He may answer, "Say: Allah is One," He is the Source of all, that was, is or will be,
Serve Him because He, is worthy of such, to Him you owe all; He creates Destiny.
The goal in this life, is ma'rifah, recognition, achieve the awareness, of who and what is Allah,
Grow close; inch near--to Him through good deeds, in this world: Dunya, for the next: Akhirah.
The acts of worship, are varied and many, yet require a ground, a place to begin,
The heart is that soil, firm and sincere, our actions do sprout, from this garden within.
The garden, its rain--is the blessings of Rahman, He whom the body, and the soul strive to reach,
While its light is mawaddah--that love, the affection, for those who indeed, were Lights sent to preach.
If there is one color, one scent in your garden, which blooms from within, and guides your very deeds,
It is your akhlaq: morality and character, those traits from which every, action proceeds.
Look to your Ameer, and his blessed speech; his words are a parable, for the garden of your heart,
Be, he says, like the flower that gives, fragrance to even, the hand crushing it, apart.
This fragrance is what--but your goodness exuded; your persona and being, how you are perceived,
Strong morals and kindness, and of course thoughtful speech, these traits are of those, whose souls have believed.
Just as the flower, we must release, only this goodness, in all times of day,
Know that your actions, and your interactions, are always--like the flower, on continued display.
Thus even when strife, and harm come to you, it is your duty, that your pleasant scent,
Does sprinkle and spread, upon each you encounter, as a breeze of nothing, but a righteous intent.
In the face of angst, and those who do crush, remember your scent, your akhlaq is your guide,
Is it your moral compass, it cannot deplete; for its fragrance is fueled, by what you hold inside.
And if there is one, a most perfect flower, whose fragrance is sweetest, in all of the land,
It is the one whose scent, is direct from the Heavens, she whose rank, we cannot understand.
She is the comfort, the very soul between, the sides of the Prophet, of Rasoolullah,
And he had declared, "When I long for the fragrance, of Paradise I smell, the neck of Fatima."
The Most Pure, the paramount Queen she is, and her morals, her traits, must be known by the nation,
For she is Zahra, whose Radiance extends, through the earth and the heavens, through all of creation.
A teacher she is, as her husband and father, lessons she gave--this you must know,
And her status is such, that her very fragrance, emits till this day, it continues to flow.
It flows through those traits, reflected perfection: truthfulness, bravery, and patience, sincere,
Forbearance and charity, and ultimate piety, these are of Zahra, and they are ever clear.
When this flawless flower, was crushed by the wicked, and her right was taken, how did she react?
Her speech was reminders, from her Holy father, and words of Quran, unparalleled fact.
My Mowla Ameer, how did he describe, his love, this flower, of the most special kind?
Nipped in the bud, it came from heaven, and to heaven it went, leaving a fragrance in his mind.
Barely two decades, this flower had grown, yet its essence, its being, indeed it had thrived,
For Zahra, this bright flower, has a legacy strong, and through her pious children, her traits have survived.
And her final son, what does he say; he by whose sake, this earth is still whole,
He takes his dear mother, as a role model defined, she is for him, both a peak and a goal.
"In the daughter of the Prophet, of Allah there is, a superior exemplar, for me," he declares,
Our living Imam, the Master of this Age, learns from Zahra, how to handle affairs.
So when you consider, the garden of your heart, remember the words of Ali and take heed,
Let goodness and truth, and all noble traits, flow from your self, from your every deed.
And what better model, exists than his flower, Fatima, Zahra, the Radiant rose of Ali,
If you seek to embody, the words of Ameer, and to nourish your garden, then like Fatima, be.
-Fatima Ali
Rajab 1434
--
20
Days of Fatimiyyah: Day 1
Bismillah and with
the love of His Chosen Ones, we seek
just a glimpse of what can never be known,
That this rose, this soul of
Muhammad is she: a model, an exemplar for each woman and man,
Thus we begin, but we must
realize, that the words of a lover are nothing but a prayer,
A prayer is rejected, returned
unfulfilled, until it is coupled with those words of Praise,
Allahumma
salli 'ala Muhammadin wa aali Muhammad we recite, O Allah, we do
ask You to send,
Salawaat is not limited: the
believers may invoke, Allah to bless each of the Holy Fourteen,
O Allah send Your Blessings Upon
she who is Truthful, Allahumma salli
'ala siddiqa,
She is the darling, most dear
loved one, of Your Love-Your Prophet, Habeebati
habeebika wa nabiyyik,
Allati
antajabtaha, wa fad-dhaltaha, wakhtartaha 'ala nisaa`il 'aalameen,
Ya Allah take revenge for the
blood of her children, Wa
kuni thaa`ira allahumma bi dami owlaadiha,
Wal
kareemata 'indal mala`il a'laa, and in the highest assembly
is her lofty position,
Wa
tuqirro biha a'yuna dhurriyatiha, blessings which to her children,
bring joy and delight,
In these words of salawaat, the
attentive will notice, that along with the plea for blessings to be sent,
These words are but a brief
affirmation of pain, and but specks of the Light of the Noble Zahra,
-Fatima Ali
--
Bismillah and with
the love of His Chosen Ones, we seek
just a glimpse of what can never be known,
The rank of Fatima, her soul and
her character, her place in the cosmos, her connection to The Throne,
Fatima is she, who is a secret of
Allah, a rose like no other, a flower of Light,
This rose deserves more, than we
humans can give--so let history dictate what its pages have shown.
That this rose, this soul of
Muhammad is she: a model, an exemplar for each woman and man,
The defender, a teacher, a mother
and more; her traits have no limit, she is of the Great Plan,
The Plan of Allah, the Creator
Divine--for her Light is from He who has no start nor end,
To understand Fatima is
impossible, yet we, seek her love and her knowledge, in the ways that we can.
Thus we begin, but we must
realize, that the words of a lover are nothing but a prayer,
We seek not reward of material in
dunya, as our vision and aim do lead us elsewhere,
For the lover, the mohibb, one reward will suffice, we pray
the Beloved accepts these words of love,
Let our rank transcend from mohibb
to Shi'a, let us
be among, the ones made aware.
A prayer is rejected, returned
unfulfilled, until it is coupled with those words of Praise,
The greatest prayer, oft-repeated,
is that one which we, have spoken in all of our nights and our days,
Salawaat, to beseech Allah to send
blessings, on those for whom He Created creation,
Is the means for fulfillment of a
desire or wish, it is but a few words, though a beautiful phrase.
Allahumma
salli 'ala Muhammadin wa aali Muhammad we recite, O Allah, we do
ask You to send,
Your Blessings upon Muhammad and
his family, our leaders--the ones on whom we depend,
To guide us toward Your Way, the
Straight Path of Deen, they are Your Light and Your Proofs on earth,
Each plea that we make, each
request of our hearts, with this call must commence, as must it end.
Salawaat is not limited: the
believers may invoke, Allah to bless each of the Holy Fourteen,
In our books, our treasures, in
du'a and ziyarah, these invocations of His Blessings are seen,
Every Nabi, Rasool, and every
Wasi, every Wali and Imam, the most righteous saints,
Without doubt have implored Allah
to Bless her, the one and only, daughter of Yaseen.
O Allah send Your Blessings Upon
she who is Truthful, Allahumma salli
'ala siddiqa,
The Pure,
whom creation cannot comprehend; Fatimata-Zakiyya,
Let the
truthfulness and purity of Fatima be known, as Allah Himself sanctified her
names,
She is Zahra,Tahira, Muhaddatha;
Mubaraka, Raadhiya, and the only Mardhiyya.
She is the darling, most dear
loved one, of Your Love-Your Prophet, Habeebati
habeebika wa nabiyyik,
And she is
the mother of Your loved ones and supporters, Wa ummi ahibbaa`ika wa asfiyaa`ik,
These are
not words in surplus or extreme, for she is the link in the Chain of Noor,
Choose any Imam and the Light of
Zahra, will radiate, will exist in whomsoever you pick.
Allati
antajabtaha, wa fad-dhaltaha, wakhtartaha 'ala nisaa`il 'aalameen,
The one
whom You chose, whom You favored and preferred, over all women in all worlds,
she is their Queen,
Allahumma
kuni taaliba laha mimman dhalama; we beseech Allah, to call to
account, those who wronged the perfect Fatima,
Wastakhaffa
bihaqqiha, and we call Allah to try those who made light, of her
rights--they were the ones who demeaned.
Ya Allah take revenge for the
blood of her children, Wa
kuni thaa`ira allahumma bi dami owlaadiha,
You decreed her as the mother of
the Imams, of Guidance: Allahumma
wa kama ja'altaha umma a`immatil huda,
We beseech You by the ranks You
have chosen for Your friends, the intimate, those who are nearest to You,
Fatima is the associate of he who
will carry, the standard on That Day, Wa
haleelata sahib il-liwaa.
Wal
kareemata 'indal mala`il a'laa, and in the highest assembly
is her lofty position,
Fa
salli 'alayha wa 'ala ummiha, so bless her and her mother, is
our request, our petition,
Salaatan
tukrimo biha wajha abeeha Muhammadin, blessings by which her father
Muhammad is honored,
Sall-allaho
'alayhi wa aalihi, bless him and his family, as is in your volition.
Wa
tuqirro biha a'yuna dhurriyatiha, blessings which to her children,
bring joy and delight,
Wabligh-hum
'annee fi hadhihi saa'at, and convey to them, just now as I write,
In this moment from me, I ask You,
Allah--Afdhala-taheeyyati was-salaam,
My
heartfelt salutations and greetings, I pray--when this salawaat, I hereto
recite.
In these words of salawaat, the
attentive will notice, that along with the plea for blessings to be sent,
The caller, the lover who recites
these words, asks Allah to bring justice to those who torment,
The immaculate, the perfected, the
noble Fatima---do you see the balance in these humble words?
In one breath we plead for
blessings on our Queen; in the next, our pain we verbalize and do vent.
These words are but a brief
affirmation of pain, and but specks of the Light of the Noble Zahra,
Her rights, her role, her
tragedies and her grief, can be counted, recounted, until Yowm al-Qiyamah,
For the momin, a believer, a human
of faith, history does expose what one needs to know,
We began with Bismillah, and
Salawaat did follow; now we move to the events of Saqifah... ... ...
-Fatima Ali
13th Jamadul-ula 1434
--
20
Days of Fatimiyyah: Day 2
The first, the greatest in creation
was ill, and earthly death was ever near,
What do we know of that tragic
day? The Beloved, the final Messenger in the pure Chain,
Did he not know or not recognize,
that the Prophet speaks only as guided by Allah?
And what do we find, when three
days had passed, on the 28th of Safar, the Light had
returned,
Yet a distance away, the stage was
set; Muhajireen and Ansar gathered to choose,
In Madina they helped the Prophet
in ways, and fought on his side in battles and wars,
Umar did urge Abu Bakr to speak,
playing on rivalry and tribal hatred of clans,
The Righteous--led by the Lion
Ali, were in mourning, in grief--for they had lost their Mowla,
The instigator, however--Umar did
know, that without the allegiance, the pledge of Ali,
Do not give a place, in your heart
for these two, and their pseudo-election, their plan and its drama,
In Dhul
'Ashira the sons
of 'Abdul Muttalib had gathered, and who among the small group did rise?
Look to each battle, documented by
all: Badr, Ohud, Khandaq--Khaybar and Hunayn,
The khutbah, the final public
speech of the Prophet, after the Hajj and in front of the mass,
And who holds the rank, that his
station to Muhammad, is as that of Harun to the Noble Musa?
For the book, the Clear
Sign, does teach the believers, that the wali is not merely
anyone, anywhere,
Do not forget that he, the
accursed son of Khattab, stated that he needed the Quran and no more,
-Fatima Ali
--
Do not call it an event, it is
more than a tragedy, as indeed it was the ultimate stage,
It is not a sole act, nor just an occurrence, and neither is it merely, a story
of that age,
It is a scene exposed, to the earths and the skies, Allah is witness to that
day of pain,
It is moments, collected, that must be imprinted, upon your soul as you feel,
emotions of rage.
Rage not for dunya but as confirmation, that you
are aware, you too testify,
That what transpired: each word, each act of
oppression, tears at your heart, and waters your eye,
Think back to that day, let the mind paint a
picture: the Holy House was in mourning for the Prophet of Love,
While elsewhere the aggressors--a small gang--were
ready, to discard the Quran, and its words, defy.
What is the Quran? Every word therein, is perfect,
protected, a written guiding light,
Stories from the lives of Awliyaa are within; it
also dictates the wrong and the right,
It is a code of ethics, a book of morality; the
Words of Allah for all jinn and mankind,
The Quran is a book to be read, understood, its
very name implies, it is meant to recite.
Every verse, each word, each letter contained, was
revealed at a specific time and occasion,
Allah commanded His Rasool to recite, the
words--and then delve into their explanation,
One ayah was sent when the Ansar had boasted, had
bragged about their greatness and right,
They claimed to have a rank over the others--but
they were rebuked for this proclamation.
The Prophet had advised to crush their pride, for
verily he was a blessing for them,
The Ansar, apologetic, offered all as
repayment--they would give all belongings to him.
In this moment, the ayah descended--do know--what
was this verse which was meant to be read?
Allah told His Apostle, His Proof, His Beloved,
through Jibraeel--these words, as clear as a gem.
Qul la as-alakum 'alayhi ajran illal-mawaddata fil
qurba; Allah ordered His voice on this earth to say,
That I do not ask--of any reward, except the love
of my near one--Muhammad did convey,
Mawaddata fil qurba, the love unconditional, of the
most dear and beloved, to the Beloved of Allah,
This is a tenet--of deen, a commandment; but how
quickly do hypocrites, ignore the Straight Way...
The Prophet was buried, our Ameer was informed, of
the plotters and the plot, and word quickly spread,
Those who did not give allegiance, were forced, to
accept Abu Bakr as a reigning figure-head,
But Ali my Mowla, what did he do? His task was to
tend to the Quran and its pages,
He, the chosen, the prince of Ghadeer, could never
give bay'ah to a person misled.
Inside the house, the Imam was engaged, in
compiling the Quran with the words of tafseer,
Qunfudh, the slave of the second accursed, knocked
on the door and demanded Ameer,
He was denied, he could not enter, that house of
purity, the home of Ali,
He went back to Umar with the news, then returned;
once again standing at the door of Tat-heer.
The Pure Sayyida, to Qunfudh relayed: I forbid you
to enter my house without permission,
The unwelcome told Umar--of this happening, and
then Umar's words, spoke of his disposition,
'What do we have to do, with the tasks of women'
this evil one exclaimed and gathered his men,
Firewood was ordered, and for this party of batil,
every step was toward the eternal perdition.
They arrived with fire in hand to that door, which
opened in the Masjid like no other could,
And demanded Ali to show himself and submit;
outside of the Pure House, angry they stood,
Zahra told the wicked, that entrance was denied,
her home was closed to these doers of wrong,
And then comes the statement, of the second, so
callous--listen to his words as he held firewood.
The leader of the pack, Umar did shout, 'Open the
door or I will burn you down',
Another had said, but Fatima is inside--and Umar's
response is now well renowned,
SO WHAT he rebutted, he had no care, that this was
the house of the Chosen of Allah,
Thus he and his band, initiated the burning, of the
door upon which, was wilayah's high crown.
What is this door? Do we understand? It is that
place where the Prophet had greeted salaam,
To Ali, Fatima and their noble children--angels
even visited, this grand maqaam.
And the Angel of Death--Malak-ul Mawt, he who takes
souls when ordered by Allah,
Even he did wait, till granted approval, by Fatima
to enter, this center of Islam.
And yet the intruders, began the attack---fire was
set to this most Holy Door,
Wa Abataa, Wa Muhammada, Zahra did yell; such a
sight was not seen before,
She asked the aggressors, if they had forgotten,
the words of her father, on the day of Ghadeer,
She called out, O Father, how soon after your
death, troubles by these two, upon us have poured.
A few moments, some minutes had passed and the
door, had become weak due to the fire,
The assailant and his company pushed the door in,
as the pain of Zahra climbed higher and higher,
The next words are of pain, history does weep, its
page are soaked by the tears of that day,
The door was pushed in, Muhammad did wail; his rose
was crushed, as was his Jannah, entire... ... ...
-Fatima Ali
15 Jamadul-ula 1434
--
The first, the greatest in creation
was ill, and earthly death was ever near,
Narrations of those days abound,
as history is the witness and the seer,
The Prophet had but a single wish,
one request, one command, left unfulfilled,
He ordered the ink pen and the
paper, to write that which, would make all clear.
What do we know of that tragic
day? The Beloved, the final Messenger in the pure Chain,
Was insulted, denied, his
words--ignored, as the ignorant visitor deemed him insane,
'The Quran is sufficient'--the
visitor declared, raising his voice while others did watch,
This calamity
of Thursday, was the beginning; the act of the accursed was the origin of
pain.
Did he not know or not recognize,
that the Prophet speaks only as guided by Allah?
Was he uninformed, or unaware of
the rank, of the speech, each word uttered by Rasoolullah?
No---he had knowledge, of
HabeebAllah's status, yet he openly rejected the call of The Caller,
His mind, his ego, his self--his
very essence, all were focused on the awaited khilafah.
And what do we find, when three
days had passed, on the 28th of Safar, the Light had
returned,
To the Highest of Heavens, from
where he had been sent, the Prophet's time on this earth had adjourned,
His loved ones, his
Itrat, his Ahlulbayt, then embarked, on the mission to bury
the Beloved of Allah,
The Prophet had passed, Bani
Hashim were orphaned; and only with his burial were the faithful concerned.
Yet a distance away, the stage was
set; Muhajireen and Ansar gathered to choose,
A new leader, a khalifah, a leader
for the Ummah, each presented their tribes' and group's views ,
The Muhajireen had accepted Islam
early on, and they did aid the Prophet in Makkah,
While the Ansar made their claim
to khilafah by stating, they sheltered the Prophet, in times of bad news.
In Madina they helped the Prophet
in ways, and fought on his side in battles and wars,
The Muhajireen countered, by
stating their actions--the argument went back and forth with their roars,
The Saqifah
of Bani Sa'ida was host,
to this plan, this plotting and gathering of men,
Then entered the sons of Abu
Qahafah and Khattab, with a plan to erase, all other scores.
Umar did urge Abu Bakr to speak,
playing on rivalry and tribal hatred of clans,
Allegiances shifted, those present
did prepare, to meet Abu Bakr's hand with their hands,
The bay'ah, the pledge, to this
one was given, Umar was the seller of religion for greed,
The khilafah thus became, a pawn
of Saqifah, while the Righteous were burying the Holy leader in the sands.
The Righteous--led by the Lion
Ali, were in mourning, in grief--for they had lost their Mowla,
Their preacher and guide, the
spiritual father, he who taught all, to turn toward Allah,
And yet those at Saqifah, where
were their hearts? Did they not feel but a moment of loss?
Their actions stand witness, that
their thoughts and concerns, were only related to the clenched khilafah.
The instigator, however--Umar did
know, that without the allegiance, the pledge of Ali,
His plan to place the 'first' as
khalifah, would fail--for many would doubt its legitimacy,
And thus he sent word to the House
of Ali, the House of Fatima, that bay'ah was required,
The events which followed are a
tale of darkness, the Quran does cry for this treachery.
Do not give a place, in your heart
for these two, and their pseudo-election, their plan and its drama,
And never regard, Saqifah with
respect; recognize its station, as a birthplace of trauma,
Any student of history, any reader
impartial, needs only glance at the Prophet's Holy life,
To understand that Ali, is the
rightful successor; walk through the past with a brief panorama:
In Dhul
'Ashira the sons
of 'Abdul Muttalib had gathered, and who among the small group did rise?
Who answered the Prophet's request
of support--the youth who left others in wonder and surprise?
Or after migration, when
Muhajireen and Ansar, were partnered in pairs, made brothers so true,
Who did the Prophet choose as his
own--his brother, declared to all watching eyes?
Look to each battle, documented by
all: Badr, Ohud, Khandaq--Khaybar and Hunayn,
Who was the steady right hand of
the Prophet--by whose hands were the enemies conquered and slain?
At Mubahela who was the nafs of Muhammad (3:61)? Was this
one the same who is mentioned in Tat-heer (33:33)?
Or for the greatest proof of the
rank of Ali, look near the pond, and the speech on that plain.
The khutbah, the final public
speech of the Prophet, after the Hajj and in front of the mass,
Detailed the authority, of the
Prophet over all, he spoke to each Muslim, regardless of class,
Declaring that he--the Messenger
of Allah, had a right, much greater on each Muslim's soul,
Than they themselves do hold or
can have--this wilayah, this authority none can
surpass.
And who holds the rank, that his
station to Muhammad, is as that of Harun to the Noble Musa?
Whose hand was raised, who stood
side by side, to Ahmad as he declared, 'Man kunto Mowla'?
One answer exists, only one in
creation, is the brother, the support, the successor, I swear,
Not by my own conjecture or
thinking; rather it is by proof, from the words of Allah.
For the book, the Clear
Sign, does teach the believers, that the wali is not merely
anyone, anywhere,
The wali is Allah, his Prophet, and he--the one who
gave charity while bowing in prayer (5:55),
Now think back to the one, who
rejected these signs, all examples and proofs of the rank of Ali,
How will he face Allah on That
Day, did he think that with The Righteous, he could compare?
Do not forget that he, the
accursed son of Khattab, stated that he needed the Quran and no more,
Yet he was the first to abandon
its teachings, its words he cast away, and much worse was in store,
For after Saqifah, with his plot
in motion, this rejecter did seek, the completion of his plan,
He and his slave, May Allah curse
them, brought torches of fire upon the Holiest door... ... ...
-Fatima Ali
14th Jamadul-ula 1434
--
Do not call it an event, it is
more than a tragedy, as indeed it was the ultimate stage,
It is not a sole act, nor just an occurrence, and neither is it merely, a story of that age,
It is a scene exposed, to the earths and the skies, Allah is witness to that day of pain,
It is moments, collected, that must be imprinted, upon your soul as you feel, emotions of rage.
Rage not for dunya but as confirmation, that you are aware, you too testify,
That what transpired: each word, each act of oppression, tears at your heart, and waters your eye,
Think back to that day, let the mind paint a picture: the Holy House was in mourning for the Prophet of Love,
While elsewhere the aggressors--a small gang--were ready, to discard the Quran, and its words, defy.
What is the Quran? Every word therein, is perfect, protected, a written guiding light,
Stories from the lives of Awliyaa are within; it also dictates the wrong and the right,
It is a code of ethics, a book of morality; the Words of Allah for all jinn and mankind,
The Quran is a book to be read, understood, its very name implies, it is meant to recite.
Every verse, each word, each letter contained, was revealed at a specific time and occasion,
Allah commanded His Rasool to recite, the words--and then delve into their explanation,
One ayah was sent when the Ansar had boasted, had bragged about their greatness and right,
They claimed to have a rank over the others--but they were rebuked for this proclamation.
The Prophet had advised to crush their pride, for verily he was a blessing for them,
The Ansar, apologetic, offered all as repayment--they would give all belongings to him.
In this moment, the ayah descended--do know--what was this verse which was meant to be read?
Allah told His Apostle, His Proof, His Beloved, through Jibraeel--these words, as clear as a gem.
Qul la as-alakum 'alayhi ajran illal-mawaddata fil qurba; Allah ordered His voice on this earth to say,
That I do not ask--of any reward, except the love of my near one--Muhammad did convey,
Mawaddata fil qurba, the love unconditional, of the most dear and beloved, to the Beloved of Allah,
This is a tenet--of deen, a commandment; but how quickly do hypocrites, ignore the Straight Way...
The Prophet was buried, our Ameer was informed, of the plotters and the plot, and word quickly spread,
Those who did not give allegiance, were forced, to accept Abu Bakr as a reigning figure-head,
But Ali my Mowla, what did he do? His task was to tend to the Quran and its pages,
He, the chosen, the prince of Ghadeer, could never give bay'ah to a person misled.
Inside the house, the Imam was engaged, in compiling the Quran with the words of tafseer,
Qunfudh, the slave of the second accursed, knocked on the door and demanded Ameer,
He was denied, he could not enter, that house of purity, the home of Ali,
He went back to Umar with the news, then returned; once again standing at the door of Tat-heer.
The Pure Sayyida, to Qunfudh relayed: I forbid you to enter my house without permission,
The unwelcome told Umar--of this happening, and then Umar's words, spoke of his disposition,
'What do we have to do, with the tasks of women' this evil one exclaimed and gathered his men,
Firewood was ordered, and for this party of batil, every step was toward the eternal perdition.
They arrived with fire in hand to that door, which opened in the Masjid like no other could,
And demanded Ali to show himself and submit; outside of the Pure House, angry they stood,
Zahra told the wicked, that entrance was denied, her home was closed to these doers of wrong,
And then comes the statement, of the second, so callous--listen to his words as he held firewood.
The leader of the pack, Umar did shout, 'Open the door or I will burn you down',
Another had said, but Fatima is inside--and Umar's response is now well renowned,
SO WHAT he rebutted, he had no care, that this was the house of the Chosen of Allah,
Thus he and his band, initiated the burning, of the door upon which, was wilayah's high crown.
What is this door? Do we understand? It is that place where the Prophet had greeted salaam,
To Ali, Fatima and their noble children--angels even visited, this grand maqaam.
And the Angel of Death--Malak-ul Mawt, he who takes souls when ordered by Allah,
Even he did wait, till granted approval, by Fatima to enter, this center of Islam.
And yet the intruders, began the attack---fire was set to this most Holy Door,
Wa Abataa, Wa Muhammada, Zahra did yell; such a sight was not seen before,
She asked the aggressors, if they had forgotten, the words of her father, on the day of Ghadeer,
She called out, O Father, how soon after your death, troubles by these two, upon us have poured.
A few moments, some minutes had passed and the door, had become weak due to the fire,
The assailant and his company pushed the door in, as the pain of Zahra climbed higher and higher,
The next words are of pain, history does weep, its page are soaked by the tears of that day,
The door was pushed in, Muhammad did wail; his rose was crushed, as was his Jannah, entire... ... ...
-Fatima Ali
15 Jamadul-ula 1434
It is not a sole act, nor just an occurrence, and neither is it merely, a story of that age,
It is a scene exposed, to the earths and the skies, Allah is witness to that day of pain,
It is moments, collected, that must be imprinted, upon your soul as you feel, emotions of rage.
Rage not for dunya but as confirmation, that you are aware, you too testify,
That what transpired: each word, each act of oppression, tears at your heart, and waters your eye,
Think back to that day, let the mind paint a picture: the Holy House was in mourning for the Prophet of Love,
While elsewhere the aggressors--a small gang--were ready, to discard the Quran, and its words, defy.
What is the Quran? Every word therein, is perfect, protected, a written guiding light,
Stories from the lives of Awliyaa are within; it also dictates the wrong and the right,
It is a code of ethics, a book of morality; the Words of Allah for all jinn and mankind,
The Quran is a book to be read, understood, its very name implies, it is meant to recite.
Every verse, each word, each letter contained, was revealed at a specific time and occasion,
Allah commanded His Rasool to recite, the words--and then delve into their explanation,
One ayah was sent when the Ansar had boasted, had bragged about their greatness and right,
They claimed to have a rank over the others--but they were rebuked for this proclamation.
The Prophet had advised to crush their pride, for verily he was a blessing for them,
The Ansar, apologetic, offered all as repayment--they would give all belongings to him.
In this moment, the ayah descended--do know--what was this verse which was meant to be read?
Allah told His Apostle, His Proof, His Beloved, through Jibraeel--these words, as clear as a gem.
Qul la as-alakum 'alayhi ajran illal-mawaddata fil qurba; Allah ordered His voice on this earth to say,
That I do not ask--of any reward, except the love of my near one--Muhammad did convey,
Mawaddata fil qurba, the love unconditional, of the most dear and beloved, to the Beloved of Allah,
This is a tenet--of deen, a commandment; but how quickly do hypocrites, ignore the Straight Way...
The Prophet was buried, our Ameer was informed, of the plotters and the plot, and word quickly spread,
Those who did not give allegiance, were forced, to accept Abu Bakr as a reigning figure-head,
But Ali my Mowla, what did he do? His task was to tend to the Quran and its pages,
He, the chosen, the prince of Ghadeer, could never give bay'ah to a person misled.
Inside the house, the Imam was engaged, in compiling the Quran with the words of tafseer,
Qunfudh, the slave of the second accursed, knocked on the door and demanded Ameer,
He was denied, he could not enter, that house of purity, the home of Ali,
He went back to Umar with the news, then returned; once again standing at the door of Tat-heer.
The Pure Sayyida, to Qunfudh relayed: I forbid you to enter my house without permission,
The unwelcome told Umar--of this happening, and then Umar's words, spoke of his disposition,
'What do we have to do, with the tasks of women' this evil one exclaimed and gathered his men,
Firewood was ordered, and for this party of batil, every step was toward the eternal perdition.
They arrived with fire in hand to that door, which opened in the Masjid like no other could,
And demanded Ali to show himself and submit; outside of the Pure House, angry they stood,
Zahra told the wicked, that entrance was denied, her home was closed to these doers of wrong,
And then comes the statement, of the second, so callous--listen to his words as he held firewood.
The leader of the pack, Umar did shout, 'Open the door or I will burn you down',
Another had said, but Fatima is inside--and Umar's response is now well renowned,
SO WHAT he rebutted, he had no care, that this was the house of the Chosen of Allah,
Thus he and his band, initiated the burning, of the door upon which, was wilayah's high crown.
What is this door? Do we understand? It is that place where the Prophet had greeted salaam,
To Ali, Fatima and their noble children--angels even visited, this grand maqaam.
And the Angel of Death--Malak-ul Mawt, he who takes souls when ordered by Allah,
Even he did wait, till granted approval, by Fatima to enter, this center of Islam.
And yet the intruders, began the attack---fire was set to this most Holy Door,
Wa Abataa, Wa Muhammada, Zahra did yell; such a sight was not seen before,
She asked the aggressors, if they had forgotten, the words of her father, on the day of Ghadeer,
She called out, O Father, how soon after your death, troubles by these two, upon us have poured.
A few moments, some minutes had passed and the door, had become weak due to the fire,
The assailant and his company pushed the door in, as the pain of Zahra climbed higher and higher,
The next words are of pain, history does weep, its page are soaked by the tears of that day,
The door was pushed in, Muhammad did wail; his rose was crushed, as was his Jannah, entire... ... ...
-Fatima Ali
15 Jamadul-ula 1434
--
20
Days of Fatimiyyah: Day 4
Madina, the city of Noor was
now lit, with the light of fire on the Holiest Door,
Umar, Qunfudh, Mugheera and the
crew, all engaged in despicable acts,
The universe watched, witnessed
what occurred, as the sword was pressed to Fatima's side,
It had been but some days, since
Rasoolullah's death, and his daughter, his heart, had only started to mourn,
The Shayateen--what arms did they
use and employ, in their most wicked and terrible plan?
The fire had rendered the entrance
weak, and one enemy decided--he made the call,
The feet of the accursed kicked
the Holiest Mother--these are the narrations which each soul must hear,
That a door is not simply to enter
or exit, it itself is a witness, it is a path,
Al-Kawthar, the abundance, the
Purest of mothers, was struck so hard, that she fell to the ground,
The ribs were broken, and know
that the door, was still on fire, as Fatima did wail,
-Fatima Ali
--
Three did stand witness, forever
they know, the pain that befell Zahra on that day,
Imagine their words, conjure the image, of what these three ones, would cry out
and say,
Each had a role, in space and in time--do not look only to the day of attack,
I envision the sorrow that this triad must feel; their memories will never,
ever fade away.
The first, what status did he have in this world? He was the
protector, of the dwelling of Light,
Always watchful, never sleeping--this noble one,
met each visitor with his guarding sight,
He greeted the Prophet, Salman, Abu Dhar, and all
who entered the house of Ali,
His duty and work was never complete; he remained
active in morn and at night.
He was as a gate, a symbol precise, the Prophet
dictated where he would reside,
How could it be that he watched Ahlulkisa, even as
he stared at the Masjid beside?
It is clear, indisputable that he holds a rank,
that none of his kind can ever seek to achieve,
He was the most charitable, kind and inviting--he
met all with humility, and never with pride.
His companion, the second, a short distance away,
was no less honorable in his customs and ways,
Though he perhaps had, but only one task, his
commitment was solid, from the earliest days,
He stood tall and firm, strength he did have, he
did also protect--but his daily work,
Was to form the foundation, and give true support,
to the House and its members, whom the Heavens did praise.
The third of the group was humbled and small, perhaps
to his friends he could not compare,
Yet he had a role, his toughness was known, to the
others he might be a means for repair,
He also kept watch, on the Household of Purity,
just as his companions, his allegiance was strong,
Little did he know, that one day however--he would
wish his existence, to never be there.
The three close ones had listened, carefully--and
what did they hear when the moment arrived?
An oppressor, an unwelcome, an evil
visitor--uttered words that through history have surely survived,
He sought allegiance from the one, the Ameer--the
brother and self of the Prophet of Allah,
And then threatened the Truthful, the Chaste, the
Radiant--she by whose presence the Prophet had thrived.
The first fellow recognized the one who spoke ill,
as louder became that hostile one's voice,
He wished that this son of Khattab would leave, but
he knew that in this matter, he had no choice...
He was to be upright, like a soldier--for he stood
between the intruder and Zahra,
But then he did see, the beginnings of pain; the
fires were near and evil rejoiced.
This first one was a servant of Zahra, ever
true--but in the moments that came, he began to feel heat,
Zahra is behind, I must concentrate, I must not
give in, his thoughts would repeat,
The trial was severe, the fire did sting and
weakened his body, he could no longer stand,
Umar and his slave kicked and pushed hard, as this
humble servant was met with defeat.
His cries were silent, and marked by regret but the
attack was not even close to its end,
His weight gave way, and soon he approached, his
companion, the second honorable friend,
Both were in shame, for they saw Zahra, pressed and
crushed and yet they could not help,
For they had become a means of oppression , their
sorrow for this act, you cannot comprehend.
And the third, what can he can say of his part, oh
how he wishes he were never created,
The holy daughter, Fatima, the lady of Light--her
purest of bodies, he had desecrated,
The assailants moved forward with force and with
speed; the third shielded his sight as he realized,
That blood was now seeping from the Universe's
Queen, and he was the culprit--his own self he now hated.
The three had lived as observers and servants, of
the House of Zahra they knew every detail,
But on that fated day, their status had changed,
each did cause pain and made Zahra wail,
Ya Allah, they seek your forgiveness these three,
for the events that unfolded were not in their control,
They are Al-baabo wal jadaaro wal mismaar--they are
the door, the wall and the nail.
--
Al baabo wal jadaaro wal
mismaar--the door and the wall and their companion, the nail,
On that day, forever they changed--Ya Allah, they are linked till eternity,
with this tragic tale,
What can we say, how can we speak, of that day when darkness, came upon Light,
These three who did watch, held all the secrets, the attack on Zahra, they saw
without fail.
The narrations are many, was it Qunfudh the slave,
or Umar the usurper who beat the sweet rose?
Who hit with the whips, pushed with the sword, and
slapped the face of she for whom Rasoolullah rose?
The most blessed flower, narrates her own
story--behind the door she stood, pregnant and in pain,
As she fell upon, her Radiant Holy face, the fire
she could feel, through the weight of her clothes.
He slapped me on my face and my ear--she begins,
and what does she say of the one whom she carried,
He of six months, in the purest womb in
creation--the traditions of his last moments are varied,
Was Umar the cause of his death or Qunfudh? Both
committed the despicable acts,
Until the son of Zahra--was no more, his warm and
pure essence, was aborted, miscarried.
The image of Ali could not be complete; Hasanayn
did exist, Shabbeer and Shabbar,
But the third holy son, was not fated to live, he
who was named after Harun's Mushabbar,
Mohsin, was he, the first witness-shaheed, to die
for the cause, the protection of Imamah,
He, on that Day, has a rank we must know--his place
we can neither conceal nor cover.
Hear the words of Zahra: I aborted Mohsin, he was
killed--though he, committed no crime,
This statement should echo in your souls and your
heart, it will indeed stand the testing of time,
Fasqat-to mohsinan qateelan bi ghayri jurmi,
murdered, killed was this innocent one,
His pure soul, he of Fatima and Ali, the third
grandson returned to Allah the Sublime.
Turn to the annals of history and turn, the pages
of the Book, the Quran Manifest,
In Surat at-Takweer, you come upon these phrases,
which none can deny nor can contest,
They speak of the Day, when all will be gathered,
the end, as it were, of this world of play,
The Day of all Judgment, when the trials we faced,
will be graded--it is, the conclusion--of our test.
On the Day when the souls will be gathered,
arranged: Wa idhan-nufooso zuwwijat,
And the girl who was buried alive will ask: wa
idhal mow`udato su`ilat,
That girl, the infant who was buried in the age, of
Jahilliyah; the one not given a chance to live,
For what sin was she killed, this she will ask--bi
ayyi-dhambin qutilat (81:-7-9).
The tafseer reminds us of the ignorants' ways, they
did not value the female, the daughter,
When birth was to given to a girl, these
ones---wasted no time in this killing of no slaughter,
They dug the ground and placed the small flesh, the
newborn, the innocent, in the dirt while alive,
And covered the grave, like nothing occurred; then
these depraved ones, indeed they forgot her.
The ta`weel, however, the innermost meaning, of
these verses, has been passed through narrators, a chain,
It is noted that the one who will question his
killing, is Sayyid ash-Shuhada, Imam al-Husayn,
Others detail the person described, mow`udato--not
as the infant buried alive,
As Imam al-Baqir states that this, verse describes
one, who holds mawaddah and is slain.
Mawaddah, love, for the Holiest Family, in history
how many for this crime are killed?
The lovers of the most Beloved of Allah; in how many
lands will history view their blood spilled?
Yet one more hidden meaning, does indeed exist--the
innocent one who will speak on that day,
Is none but Mohsin, the son of Zahra, he whose
tragedy, in your heart must be filled.
Bi ayyi dhambin qutilat, for what crime was killed
this unborn one, the third Holy Son with the name of Mohsin?
Had he violated the book, the traditions or more,
or had he committed some major sin?
No--this pure, small glowing light, had no fault at
all; he had done no wrong,
The criminals are those who took his pure life, who
injured Zahra, deep and within.
Can we understand the crime they committed? The
accursed are those of the lowest station,
They did not merely kill Mohsin the unborn, but
with him one-third of the Prophet's progeny, his relation,
The blood of one-third of Saadaat is upon, the
souls of the intruders, the attackers of Zahra,
O listeners is this not, enough reason to,
dissociate from him, the usurper of the nation?
Remember what he and his pack did bring; on the door
of Zahra, they placed wooden fire,
Any who negates this tragedy, is nothing short of a
hypocrite, or an unaware liar,
Defend with your speech, with your strength within,
the memory of Mohsin, the third son of Ali,
And pray to Allah that He curses the killers, from
the day of the murder, till when all will expire... ... ...
--
The door was broken, Zahra was
injured, and what events did history, next see unfold?
The life of Mohsin was no doubt lost, his tragedy is one, often left untold,
The attackers were inside this Noble House, and what do we find, what did
occur?
Abal Hasan--Imam Ali did enter, the scene of which he had been foretold.
The lion, unmatched, grabbed Umar by the neck, pushing him to the ground, indeed to the floor,
A taste was shown, just one brief glimpse, of the
power expelled when this lion does roar,
And then the Imam, the Wali of Allah, spoke to the
invader, the transgressor- face to face,
What did he say? Listen to the speech, the strong,
truthful words of this warrior.
Yabna-sahhak, I swear by the One, who granted
Muhammad high stature and rank,
By assigning him to, the station of Prophethood;
our Imam declared firmly, poised like a tank,
If it was not because of what Allah had destined,
and because of the covenant between the Prophet and me,
You would have known that you could never enter, my
house--thus Ali signified his own rank.
For who is Ali? Amir-ul-Momineen--is he not the
Wali, the intimate of Allah?
Is he not the brother, the rightful successor, of
the Beloved, the Truthful, the Trustworthy Mustafa,
Imam Ali in that moment, made perfectly clear, that
he did have knowledge of this day long before,
And he knew that his role, his task at this time,
was to be of the patient, for his flower Zahra.
Upon the neck of the blessed, the wicked did place,
a rope and then dragged Mowla to the street,
Barely conscious Zahra, did call to Fiddha, to come
grant her aid, as she was injured and weak,
'Ya Fiddhato adrikeeni, fa qad wa rabbi asqat-to
janeeni', O Fiddha, help me was Zahra's heartfelt plea,
By my Lord, I have miscarried my fetus--our Queen
was collapsed, fallen to her feet.
Zahra had fainted, while outside her Imam, was
brought to the masjid, by the second accursed,
Some minutes had passed, and our Lady awoke, and
spoke to her Zainab, the elder--the first,
'Ya Zainab ayna abaaki', she asked; O Zainab where
is your father, and then...
Zainab did reply that her father was taken, with
the rope on his neck, he had been coerced.
The pivotal moment, of truth and of power, was now
upon the mother of the pure Hasanayn,
Zahra did stand up, she knew of her role--her focus
was such, she forgot her own pain,
How or why, you do ask; she is more than a
daughter, a wife or a mother, she is a Proof Allah,
The Queen Lady Zahra, was the defender of Wilayah,
the protector of Imamah, the first in a chain.
Of those who serve the Imam of their time; Zahra
had a role to which none can compare,
She took her young sons, the youth of the Heavens,
in pursuit to the masjid, completely aware,
That she must defend the right of Ali; his
allegiance was toward, none but Allah,
And she would display her status and power, the
usurpers and watchers would be left in a scare.
O' brothers and sisters, do know there exist, those
who deny the events of that day,
Some say the attack did never occur, others ask how
the Imam could be dragged away?
The answers are there, in the past and its pages;
but one must understand, one single fact,
That the chosen--those whom Allah had ordained,
hold knowledge--which each action of theirs will convey.
Amir-ul-Momineen, the hand of Allah, could no doubt
destroy an enemy with one blow,
But the safety of Islam, of its purest teachings,
is the heart of Ali--this you must know,
Do not say that your Mowla could have done
something else, or taken that action which you do see fit,
For he acts and speaks, guided by the Unseen; in
the mind of Ali, Divine knowledge does flow.
And this can be said for Sayyida Fatima, part of
her Divine Test, was to answer that door,
The Queen did know, from her father and essence,
what tragedies, after him, she would have to endure,
Her statements, responses to the ones who
attacked--would serve to remind each generation,
That she is the oppressed, and the ones with the
fire--they betrayed her father, by Allah she swore.
Our Imam, he is Asbar-as-Sabireen--the most patient
of all the tested, patient ones,
A mountain of courage, a lion of wait, these traits
were inherited by his Holy sons,
The pain of those days--what was its reason? Only
Allah does hold the answer complete,
But each believer, he who seeks knowledge must
know, that sacrifice is the way, the path of the Pure Ones.
Sacrifice all in the name of Allah--on that tragic
day, both Fatima and Ali,
Underwent and experienced, a trial so great--this
was the first for the Holy Family,
A prelude, an introduction of what was to come,
Saqifah--with its aftermath--was the first wave,
Of the oppression, the hostility, shown toward the
Holy--the most blessed members of the Prophet's progeny.
There was one who narrated the tragedies, he--was a
reciter of maqatil, of majalis,
Abd az-Zahra al-Ka`bi was well known in bringing,
the tragedies to life, as he would reminisce,
Upon what did befall the Holiest House; he was a
servant, of the Hussaini mimbar,
And one night while dreaming, this momin brother,
was visited by the youth, the greatest, most pious.
Imam al-Hasan and Imam al-Hussain did come to
al-Ka`bi in his vivid dream,
You do not recite our masaa`ib they said; Al-Ka`bi
inquired as to what they did mean,
For he always remembered and spoke to the people,
of the pains, the trials to face the Pure Ones,
Especially yours, Ya Aba Abdillah; so what were the
calamities that Al-Hasanayn deemed?
They--the two grandsons--the leaders of youth,
explained to their servant what he had left out,
Our mother had fallen to the ground while bleeding,
the pain had caused her essence to shout,
While in charged the men, who did place the rope,
around the pure neck of our father Ali,
Now hear of the tragedy, the two did
narrate---their greatest museebah, in that moment came about.
Al-Hasan wal Husayn explained to the dreamer, that
they did not know whether to run,
Outside to the street, in pursuit of their father,
or help their dear mother, after what had been done,
Which parent, which beloved and proof of Allah,
should they have approached or should have helped,
Young children they were, only a few years, but the
hurt of that day, never left their vision... ... ...
--
Madina, the city of Noor was
now lit, with the light of fire on the Holiest Door,
The House of those, upon whose
Purity, the Creator Almighty distinctively swore,
The call, the cry, the sorrow of
Fatima, began in those moments--Wa Muhammada,
The clan of devils began their
assault--against the most pious, they were waging a war.
Umar, Qunfudh, Mugheera and the
crew, all engaged in despicable acts,
A sword was unsheathed, Fatima was
assaulted, these are history's indisputable facts,
He who ran away while in battle,
now took arms against the Lady of Light,
The house was besieged, as the cry
of Fatima, grew louder from the onslaught of vicious attacks.
The universe watched, witnessed
what occurred, as the sword was pressed to Fatima's side,
The door tells the story, of those
who were present: baatil with fire, while Haqq stood inside,
Those with the torches were not
unaware, they had heard each phrase from the Prophet's holy tongue,
And yet they sought, to forcefully
enter, that home where the Proofs of Allah did reside.
It had been but some days, since
Rasoolullah's death, and his daughter, his heart, had only started to mourn,
How would he, the Mercy upon
Worlds, react if he saw his beloved being torn?
Hit and pushed, by the foremost
oppressor, the rose of the Heavens thus began to wither,
The day had arrived, that day of
darkness--which the Prophet himself had foretold and forewarned.
The Shayateen--what arms did they
use and employ, in their most wicked and terrible plan?
A sword, a whip, and their
hypocrite hands--and also the feet of the traitorous man,
Qunfudh the slave, he did hold the
whip, aiming its tail at the Pious Zahra,
Until Umar did grab, that weapon
of choice, and struck the Great Queen, repeatedly on her hand.
The fire had rendered the entrance
weak, and one enemy decided--he made the call,
To push the door in, as Zahra
became trapped, between the lit door and the solid, strong wall.
Do you hear the sound--do you know
what was broken? The stars do withhold their light due to grief,
As the ribs of Zahra, Umme-abeeha,
were crushed--and soon after--Zahra took a fall.
The feet of the accursed kicked
the Holiest Mother--these are the narrations which each soul must hear,
The leader of all women, for all
times and all worlds, is worthy and deserving of your very first tear,
From Kufa to Karbala to many years
later; the tragedies and their scars run deep as can be,
But remember Madina, do never
forget---that this was the day, when all was made clear.
That a door is not simply to enter
or exit, it itself is a witness, it is a path,
To determine who is, worthy of
Glory, as well as who earns the Almighty's Wrath,
On one side stood Truth, the
defender, Al-Kawthar--she whom the Quran gave glad tidings for,
While the other did see, the
greedy, the cunning, the plotters of Saqifah and its aftermath.
Al-Kawthar, the abundance, the
Purest of mothers, was struck so hard, that she fell to the ground,
The attackers continued, her face
had been slapped--envision the pain and imagine the sound,
Of creation, those objects made by
Allah, only due to His love of the Holiest Ones,
The sun, the moon, the seas and
others--do you not believe, that their pain was unbound?
The ribs were broken, and know
that the door, was still on fire, as Fatima did wail,
Her sorrow did speak--her womb
became silent--the tragedy, too heavy--to place on a scale,
For when her Holiness, was caught
by the door, the wall did hold a secret inside,
The Blessed, she from the Noor of
Allah, was hurt, branded, pierced...by the nail... ... ...
-Fatima Ali
16th Jamadul-ula 1434
--
Three did stand witness, forever
they know, the pain that befell Zahra on that day,
Imagine their words, conjure the image, of what these three ones, would cry out and say,
Each had a role, in space and in time--do not look only to the day of attack,
I envision the sorrow that this triad must feel; their memories will never, ever fade away.
The first, what status did he have in this world? He was the protector, of the dwelling of Light,
Always watchful, never sleeping--this noble one, met each visitor with his guarding sight,
He greeted the Prophet, Salman, Abu Dhar, and all who entered the house of Ali,
His duty and work was never complete; he remained active in morn and at night.
He was as a gate, a symbol precise, the Prophet dictated where he would reside,
How could it be that he watched Ahlulkisa, even as he stared at the Masjid beside?
It is clear, indisputable that he holds a rank, that none of his kind can ever seek to achieve,
He was the most charitable, kind and inviting--he met all with humility, and never with pride.
His companion, the second, a short distance away, was no less honorable in his customs and ways,
Though he perhaps had, but only one task, his commitment was solid, from the earliest days,
He stood tall and firm, strength he did have, he did also protect--but his daily work,
Was to form the foundation, and give true support, to the House and its members, whom the Heavens did praise.
The third of the group was humbled and small, perhaps to his friends he could not compare,
Yet he had a role, his toughness was known, to the others he might be a means for repair,
He also kept watch, on the Household of Purity, just as his companions, his allegiance was strong,
Little did he know, that one day however--he would wish his existence, to never be there.
The three close ones had listened, carefully--and what did they hear when the moment arrived?
An oppressor, an unwelcome, an evil visitor--uttered words that through history have surely survived,
He sought allegiance from the one, the Ameer--the brother and self of the Prophet of Allah,
And then threatened the Truthful, the Chaste, the Radiant--she by whose presence the Prophet had thrived.
The first fellow recognized the one who spoke ill, as louder became that hostile one's voice,
He wished that this son of Khattab would leave, but he knew that in this matter, he had no choice...
He was to be upright, like a soldier--for he stood between the intruder and Zahra,
But then he did see, the beginnings of pain; the fires were near and evil rejoiced.
This first one was a servant of Zahra, ever true--but in the moments that came, he began to feel heat,
Zahra is behind, I must concentrate, I must not give in, his thoughts would repeat,
The trial was severe, the fire did sting and weakened his body, he could no longer stand,
Umar and his slave kicked and pushed hard, as this humble servant was met with defeat.
His cries were silent, and marked by regret but the attack was not even close to its end,
His weight gave way, and soon he approached, his companion, the second honorable friend,
Both were in shame, for they saw Zahra, pressed and crushed and yet they could not help,
For they had become a means of oppression , their sorrow for this act, you cannot comprehend.
And the third, what can he can say of his part, oh how he wishes he were never created,
The holy daughter, Fatima, the lady of Light--her purest of bodies, he had desecrated,
The assailants moved forward with force and with speed; the third shielded his sight as he realized,
That blood was now seeping from the Universe's Queen, and he was the culprit--his own self he now hated.
The three had lived as observers and servants, of the House of Zahra they knew every detail,
But on that fated day, their status had changed, each did cause pain and made Zahra wail,
Ya Allah, they seek your forgiveness these three, for the events that unfolded were not in their control,
They are Al-baabo wal jadaaro wal mismaar--they are the door, the wall and the nail.
Imagine their words, conjure the image, of what these three ones, would cry out and say,
Each had a role, in space and in time--do not look only to the day of attack,
I envision the sorrow that this triad must feel; their memories will never, ever fade away.
The first, what status did he have in this world? He was the protector, of the dwelling of Light,
Always watchful, never sleeping--this noble one, met each visitor with his guarding sight,
He greeted the Prophet, Salman, Abu Dhar, and all who entered the house of Ali,
His duty and work was never complete; he remained active in morn and at night.
He was as a gate, a symbol precise, the Prophet dictated where he would reside,
How could it be that he watched Ahlulkisa, even as he stared at the Masjid beside?
It is clear, indisputable that he holds a rank, that none of his kind can ever seek to achieve,
He was the most charitable, kind and inviting--he met all with humility, and never with pride.
His companion, the second, a short distance away, was no less honorable in his customs and ways,
Though he perhaps had, but only one task, his commitment was solid, from the earliest days,
He stood tall and firm, strength he did have, he did also protect--but his daily work,
Was to form the foundation, and give true support, to the House and its members, whom the Heavens did praise.
The third of the group was humbled and small, perhaps to his friends he could not compare,
Yet he had a role, his toughness was known, to the others he might be a means for repair,
He also kept watch, on the Household of Purity, just as his companions, his allegiance was strong,
Little did he know, that one day however--he would wish his existence, to never be there.
The three close ones had listened, carefully--and what did they hear when the moment arrived?
An oppressor, an unwelcome, an evil visitor--uttered words that through history have surely survived,
He sought allegiance from the one, the Ameer--the brother and self of the Prophet of Allah,
And then threatened the Truthful, the Chaste, the Radiant--she by whose presence the Prophet had thrived.
The first fellow recognized the one who spoke ill, as louder became that hostile one's voice,
He wished that this son of Khattab would leave, but he knew that in this matter, he had no choice...
He was to be upright, like a soldier--for he stood between the intruder and Zahra,
But then he did see, the beginnings of pain; the fires were near and evil rejoiced.
This first one was a servant of Zahra, ever true--but in the moments that came, he began to feel heat,
Zahra is behind, I must concentrate, I must not give in, his thoughts would repeat,
The trial was severe, the fire did sting and weakened his body, he could no longer stand,
Umar and his slave kicked and pushed hard, as this humble servant was met with defeat.
His cries were silent, and marked by regret but the attack was not even close to its end,
His weight gave way, and soon he approached, his companion, the second honorable friend,
Both were in shame, for they saw Zahra, pressed and crushed and yet they could not help,
For they had become a means of oppression , their sorrow for this act, you cannot comprehend.
And the third, what can he can say of his part, oh how he wishes he were never created,
The holy daughter, Fatima, the lady of Light--her purest of bodies, he had desecrated,
The assailants moved forward with force and with speed; the third shielded his sight as he realized,
That blood was now seeping from the Universe's Queen, and he was the culprit--his own self he now hated.
The three had lived as observers and servants, of the House of Zahra they knew every detail,
But on that fated day, their status had changed, each did cause pain and made Zahra wail,
Ya Allah, they seek your forgiveness these three, for the events that unfolded were not in their control,
They are Al-baabo wal jadaaro wal mismaar--they are the door, the wall and the nail.
--
Al baabo wal jadaaro wal
mismaar--the door and the wall and their companion, the nail,
On that day, forever they changed--Ya Allah, they are linked till eternity, with this tragic tale,
What can we say, how can we speak, of that day when darkness, came upon Light,
These three who did watch, held all the secrets, the attack on Zahra, they saw without fail.
The narrations are many, was it Qunfudh the slave, or Umar the usurper who beat the sweet rose?
Who hit with the whips, pushed with the sword, and slapped the face of she for whom Rasoolullah rose?
The most blessed flower, narrates her own story--behind the door she stood, pregnant and in pain,
As she fell upon, her Radiant Holy face, the fire she could feel, through the weight of her clothes.
He slapped me on my face and my ear--she begins, and what does she say of the one whom she carried,
He of six months, in the purest womb in creation--the traditions of his last moments are varied,
Was Umar the cause of his death or Qunfudh? Both committed the despicable acts,
Until the son of Zahra--was no more, his warm and pure essence, was aborted, miscarried.
The image of Ali could not be complete; Hasanayn did exist, Shabbeer and Shabbar,
But the third holy son, was not fated to live, he who was named after Harun's Mushabbar,
Mohsin, was he, the first witness-shaheed, to die for the cause, the protection of Imamah,
He, on that Day, has a rank we must know--his place we can neither conceal nor cover.
Hear the words of Zahra: I aborted Mohsin, he was killed--though he, committed no crime,
This statement should echo in your souls and your heart, it will indeed stand the testing of time,
Fasqat-to mohsinan qateelan bi ghayri jurmi, murdered, killed was this innocent one,
His pure soul, he of Fatima and Ali, the third grandson returned to Allah the Sublime.
Turn to the annals of history and turn, the pages of the Book, the Quran Manifest,
In Surat at-Takweer, you come upon these phrases, which none can deny nor can contest,
They speak of the Day, when all will be gathered, the end, as it were, of this world of play,
The Day of all Judgment, when the trials we faced, will be graded--it is, the conclusion--of our test.
On the Day when the souls will be gathered, arranged: Wa idhan-nufooso zuwwijat,
And the girl who was buried alive will ask: wa idhal mow`udato su`ilat,
That girl, the infant who was buried in the age, of Jahilliyah; the one not given a chance to live,
For what sin was she killed, this she will ask--bi ayyi-dhambin qutilat (81:-7-9).
The tafseer reminds us of the ignorants' ways, they did not value the female, the daughter,
When birth was to given to a girl, these ones---wasted no time in this killing of no slaughter,
They dug the ground and placed the small flesh, the newborn, the innocent, in the dirt while alive,
And covered the grave, like nothing occurred; then these depraved ones, indeed they forgot her.
The ta`weel, however, the innermost meaning, of these verses, has been passed through narrators, a chain,
It is noted that the one who will question his killing, is Sayyid ash-Shuhada, Imam al-Husayn,
Others detail the person described, mow`udato--not as the infant buried alive,
As Imam al-Baqir states that this, verse describes one, who holds mawaddah and is slain.
Mawaddah, love, for the Holiest Family, in history how many for this crime are killed?
The lovers of the most Beloved of Allah; in how many lands will history view their blood spilled?
Yet one more hidden meaning, does indeed exist--the innocent one who will speak on that day,
Is none but Mohsin, the son of Zahra, he whose tragedy, in your heart must be filled.
Bi ayyi dhambin qutilat, for what crime was killed this unborn one, the third Holy Son with the name of Mohsin?
Had he violated the book, the traditions or more, or had he committed some major sin?
No--this pure, small glowing light, had no fault at all; he had done no wrong,
The criminals are those who took his pure life, who injured Zahra, deep and within.
Can we understand the crime they committed? The accursed are those of the lowest station,
They did not merely kill Mohsin the unborn, but with him one-third of the Prophet's progeny, his relation,
The blood of one-third of Saadaat is upon, the souls of the intruders, the attackers of Zahra,
O listeners is this not, enough reason to, dissociate from him, the usurper of the nation?
Remember what he and his pack did bring; on the door of Zahra, they placed wooden fire,
Any who negates this tragedy, is nothing short of a hypocrite, or an unaware liar,
Defend with your speech, with your strength within, the memory of Mohsin, the third son of Ali,
And pray to Allah that He curses the killers, from the day of the murder, till when all will expire... ... ...
On that day, forever they changed--Ya Allah, they are linked till eternity, with this tragic tale,
What can we say, how can we speak, of that day when darkness, came upon Light,
These three who did watch, held all the secrets, the attack on Zahra, they saw without fail.
The narrations are many, was it Qunfudh the slave, or Umar the usurper who beat the sweet rose?
Who hit with the whips, pushed with the sword, and slapped the face of she for whom Rasoolullah rose?
The most blessed flower, narrates her own story--behind the door she stood, pregnant and in pain,
As she fell upon, her Radiant Holy face, the fire she could feel, through the weight of her clothes.
He slapped me on my face and my ear--she begins, and what does she say of the one whom she carried,
He of six months, in the purest womb in creation--the traditions of his last moments are varied,
Was Umar the cause of his death or Qunfudh? Both committed the despicable acts,
Until the son of Zahra--was no more, his warm and pure essence, was aborted, miscarried.
The image of Ali could not be complete; Hasanayn did exist, Shabbeer and Shabbar,
But the third holy son, was not fated to live, he who was named after Harun's Mushabbar,
Mohsin, was he, the first witness-shaheed, to die for the cause, the protection of Imamah,
He, on that Day, has a rank we must know--his place we can neither conceal nor cover.
Hear the words of Zahra: I aborted Mohsin, he was killed--though he, committed no crime,
This statement should echo in your souls and your heart, it will indeed stand the testing of time,
Fasqat-to mohsinan qateelan bi ghayri jurmi, murdered, killed was this innocent one,
His pure soul, he of Fatima and Ali, the third grandson returned to Allah the Sublime.
Turn to the annals of history and turn, the pages of the Book, the Quran Manifest,
In Surat at-Takweer, you come upon these phrases, which none can deny nor can contest,
They speak of the Day, when all will be gathered, the end, as it were, of this world of play,
The Day of all Judgment, when the trials we faced, will be graded--it is, the conclusion--of our test.
On the Day when the souls will be gathered, arranged: Wa idhan-nufooso zuwwijat,
And the girl who was buried alive will ask: wa idhal mow`udato su`ilat,
That girl, the infant who was buried in the age, of Jahilliyah; the one not given a chance to live,
For what sin was she killed, this she will ask--bi ayyi-dhambin qutilat (81:-7-9).
The tafseer reminds us of the ignorants' ways, they did not value the female, the daughter,
When birth was to given to a girl, these ones---wasted no time in this killing of no slaughter,
They dug the ground and placed the small flesh, the newborn, the innocent, in the dirt while alive,
And covered the grave, like nothing occurred; then these depraved ones, indeed they forgot her.
The ta`weel, however, the innermost meaning, of these verses, has been passed through narrators, a chain,
It is noted that the one who will question his killing, is Sayyid ash-Shuhada, Imam al-Husayn,
Others detail the person described, mow`udato--not as the infant buried alive,
As Imam al-Baqir states that this, verse describes one, who holds mawaddah and is slain.
Mawaddah, love, for the Holiest Family, in history how many for this crime are killed?
The lovers of the most Beloved of Allah; in how many lands will history view their blood spilled?
Yet one more hidden meaning, does indeed exist--the innocent one who will speak on that day,
Is none but Mohsin, the son of Zahra, he whose tragedy, in your heart must be filled.
Bi ayyi dhambin qutilat, for what crime was killed this unborn one, the third Holy Son with the name of Mohsin?
Had he violated the book, the traditions or more, or had he committed some major sin?
No--this pure, small glowing light, had no fault at all; he had done no wrong,
The criminals are those who took his pure life, who injured Zahra, deep and within.
Can we understand the crime they committed? The accursed are those of the lowest station,
They did not merely kill Mohsin the unborn, but with him one-third of the Prophet's progeny, his relation,
The blood of one-third of Saadaat is upon, the souls of the intruders, the attackers of Zahra,
O listeners is this not, enough reason to, dissociate from him, the usurper of the nation?
Remember what he and his pack did bring; on the door of Zahra, they placed wooden fire,
Any who negates this tragedy, is nothing short of a hypocrite, or an unaware liar,
Defend with your speech, with your strength within, the memory of Mohsin, the third son of Ali,
And pray to Allah that He curses the killers, from the day of the murder, till when all will expire... ... ...
--
The door was broken, Zahra was
injured, and what events did history, next see unfold?
The life of Mohsin was no doubt lost, his tragedy is one, often left untold,
The attackers were inside this Noble House, and what do we find, what did occur?
Abal Hasan--Imam Ali did enter, the scene of which he had been foretold.
The lion, unmatched, grabbed Umar by the neck, pushing him to the ground, indeed to the floor,
A taste was shown, just one brief glimpse, of the power expelled when this lion does roar,
And then the Imam, the Wali of Allah, spoke to the invader, the transgressor- face to face,
What did he say? Listen to the speech, the strong, truthful words of this warrior.
Yabna-sahhak, I swear by the One, who granted Muhammad high stature and rank,
By assigning him to, the station of Prophethood; our Imam declared firmly, poised like a tank,
If it was not because of what Allah had destined, and because of the covenant between the Prophet and me,
You would have known that you could never enter, my house--thus Ali signified his own rank.
For who is Ali? Amir-ul-Momineen--is he not the Wali, the intimate of Allah?
Is he not the brother, the rightful successor, of the Beloved, the Truthful, the Trustworthy Mustafa,
Imam Ali in that moment, made perfectly clear, that he did have knowledge of this day long before,
And he knew that his role, his task at this time, was to be of the patient, for his flower Zahra.
Upon the neck of the blessed, the wicked did place, a rope and then dragged Mowla to the street,
Barely conscious Zahra, did call to Fiddha, to come grant her aid, as she was injured and weak,
'Ya Fiddhato adrikeeni, fa qad wa rabbi asqat-to janeeni', O Fiddha, help me was Zahra's heartfelt plea,
By my Lord, I have miscarried my fetus--our Queen was collapsed, fallen to her feet.
Zahra had fainted, while outside her Imam, was brought to the masjid, by the second accursed,
Some minutes had passed, and our Lady awoke, and spoke to her Zainab, the elder--the first,
'Ya Zainab ayna abaaki', she asked; O Zainab where is your father, and then...
Zainab did reply that her father was taken, with the rope on his neck, he had been coerced.
The pivotal moment, of truth and of power, was now upon the mother of the pure Hasanayn,
Zahra did stand up, she knew of her role--her focus was such, she forgot her own pain,
How or why, you do ask; she is more than a daughter, a wife or a mother, she is a Proof Allah,
The Queen Lady Zahra, was the defender of Wilayah, the protector of Imamah, the first in a chain.
Of those who serve the Imam of their time; Zahra had a role to which none can compare,
She took her young sons, the youth of the Heavens, in pursuit to the masjid, completely aware,
That she must defend the right of Ali; his allegiance was toward, none but Allah,
And she would display her status and power, the usurpers and watchers would be left in a scare.
O' brothers and sisters, do know there exist, those who deny the events of that day,
Some say the attack did never occur, others ask how the Imam could be dragged away?
The answers are there, in the past and its pages; but one must understand, one single fact,
That the chosen--those whom Allah had ordained, hold knowledge--which each action of theirs will convey.
Amir-ul-Momineen, the hand of Allah, could no doubt destroy an enemy with one blow,
But the safety of Islam, of its purest teachings, is the heart of Ali--this you must know,
Do not say that your Mowla could have done something else, or taken that action which you do see fit,
For he acts and speaks, guided by the Unseen; in the mind of Ali, Divine knowledge does flow.
And this can be said for Sayyida Fatima, part of her Divine Test, was to answer that door,
The Queen did know, from her father and essence, what tragedies, after him, she would have to endure,
Her statements, responses to the ones who attacked--would serve to remind each generation,
That she is the oppressed, and the ones with the fire--they betrayed her father, by Allah she swore.
Our Imam, he is Asbar-as-Sabireen--the most patient of all the tested, patient ones,
A mountain of courage, a lion of wait, these traits were inherited by his Holy sons,
The pain of those days--what was its reason? Only Allah does hold the answer complete,
But each believer, he who seeks knowledge must know, that sacrifice is the way, the path of the Pure Ones.
Sacrifice all in the name of Allah--on that tragic day, both Fatima and Ali,
Underwent and experienced, a trial so great--this was the first for the Holy Family,
A prelude, an introduction of what was to come, Saqifah--with its aftermath--was the first wave,
Of the oppression, the hostility, shown toward the Holy--the most blessed members of the Prophet's progeny.
There was one who narrated the tragedies, he--was a reciter of maqatil, of majalis,
Abd az-Zahra al-Ka`bi was well known in bringing, the tragedies to life, as he would reminisce,
Upon what did befall the Holiest House; he was a servant, of the Hussaini mimbar,
And one night while dreaming, this momin brother, was visited by the youth, the greatest, most pious.
Imam al-Hasan and Imam al-Hussain did come to al-Ka`bi in his vivid dream,
You do not recite our masaa`ib they said; Al-Ka`bi inquired as to what they did mean,
For he always remembered and spoke to the people, of the pains, the trials to face the Pure Ones,
Especially yours, Ya Aba Abdillah; so what were the calamities that Al-Hasanayn deemed?
They--the two grandsons--the leaders of youth, explained to their servant what he had left out,
Our mother had fallen to the ground while bleeding, the pain had caused her essence to shout,
While in charged the men, who did place the rope, around the pure neck of our father Ali,
Now hear of the tragedy, the two did narrate---their greatest museebah, in that moment came about.
Al-Hasan wal Husayn explained to the dreamer, that they did not know whether to run,
Outside to the street, in pursuit of their father, or help their dear mother, after what had been done,
Which parent, which beloved and proof of Allah, should they have approached or should have helped,
Young children they were, only a few years, but the hurt of that day, never left their vision... ... ...
The life of Mohsin was no doubt lost, his tragedy is one, often left untold,
The attackers were inside this Noble House, and what do we find, what did occur?
Abal Hasan--Imam Ali did enter, the scene of which he had been foretold.
The lion, unmatched, grabbed Umar by the neck, pushing him to the ground, indeed to the floor,
A taste was shown, just one brief glimpse, of the power expelled when this lion does roar,
And then the Imam, the Wali of Allah, spoke to the invader, the transgressor- face to face,
What did he say? Listen to the speech, the strong, truthful words of this warrior.
Yabna-sahhak, I swear by the One, who granted Muhammad high stature and rank,
By assigning him to, the station of Prophethood; our Imam declared firmly, poised like a tank,
If it was not because of what Allah had destined, and because of the covenant between the Prophet and me,
You would have known that you could never enter, my house--thus Ali signified his own rank.
For who is Ali? Amir-ul-Momineen--is he not the Wali, the intimate of Allah?
Is he not the brother, the rightful successor, of the Beloved, the Truthful, the Trustworthy Mustafa,
Imam Ali in that moment, made perfectly clear, that he did have knowledge of this day long before,
And he knew that his role, his task at this time, was to be of the patient, for his flower Zahra.
Upon the neck of the blessed, the wicked did place, a rope and then dragged Mowla to the street,
Barely conscious Zahra, did call to Fiddha, to come grant her aid, as she was injured and weak,
'Ya Fiddhato adrikeeni, fa qad wa rabbi asqat-to janeeni', O Fiddha, help me was Zahra's heartfelt plea,
By my Lord, I have miscarried my fetus--our Queen was collapsed, fallen to her feet.
Zahra had fainted, while outside her Imam, was brought to the masjid, by the second accursed,
Some minutes had passed, and our Lady awoke, and spoke to her Zainab, the elder--the first,
'Ya Zainab ayna abaaki', she asked; O Zainab where is your father, and then...
Zainab did reply that her father was taken, with the rope on his neck, he had been coerced.
The pivotal moment, of truth and of power, was now upon the mother of the pure Hasanayn,
Zahra did stand up, she knew of her role--her focus was such, she forgot her own pain,
How or why, you do ask; she is more than a daughter, a wife or a mother, she is a Proof Allah,
The Queen Lady Zahra, was the defender of Wilayah, the protector of Imamah, the first in a chain.
Of those who serve the Imam of their time; Zahra had a role to which none can compare,
She took her young sons, the youth of the Heavens, in pursuit to the masjid, completely aware,
That she must defend the right of Ali; his allegiance was toward, none but Allah,
And she would display her status and power, the usurpers and watchers would be left in a scare.
O' brothers and sisters, do know there exist, those who deny the events of that day,
Some say the attack did never occur, others ask how the Imam could be dragged away?
The answers are there, in the past and its pages; but one must understand, one single fact,
That the chosen--those whom Allah had ordained, hold knowledge--which each action of theirs will convey.
Amir-ul-Momineen, the hand of Allah, could no doubt destroy an enemy with one blow,
But the safety of Islam, of its purest teachings, is the heart of Ali--this you must know,
Do not say that your Mowla could have done something else, or taken that action which you do see fit,
For he acts and speaks, guided by the Unseen; in the mind of Ali, Divine knowledge does flow.
And this can be said for Sayyida Fatima, part of her Divine Test, was to answer that door,
The Queen did know, from her father and essence, what tragedies, after him, she would have to endure,
Her statements, responses to the ones who attacked--would serve to remind each generation,
That she is the oppressed, and the ones with the fire--they betrayed her father, by Allah she swore.
Our Imam, he is Asbar-as-Sabireen--the most patient of all the tested, patient ones,
A mountain of courage, a lion of wait, these traits were inherited by his Holy sons,
The pain of those days--what was its reason? Only Allah does hold the answer complete,
But each believer, he who seeks knowledge must know, that sacrifice is the way, the path of the Pure Ones.
Sacrifice all in the name of Allah--on that tragic day, both Fatima and Ali,
Underwent and experienced, a trial so great--this was the first for the Holy Family,
A prelude, an introduction of what was to come, Saqifah--with its aftermath--was the first wave,
Of the oppression, the hostility, shown toward the Holy--the most blessed members of the Prophet's progeny.
There was one who narrated the tragedies, he--was a reciter of maqatil, of majalis,
Abd az-Zahra al-Ka`bi was well known in bringing, the tragedies to life, as he would reminisce,
Upon what did befall the Holiest House; he was a servant, of the Hussaini mimbar,
And one night while dreaming, this momin brother, was visited by the youth, the greatest, most pious.
Imam al-Hasan and Imam al-Hussain did come to al-Ka`bi in his vivid dream,
You do not recite our masaa`ib they said; Al-Ka`bi inquired as to what they did mean,
For he always remembered and spoke to the people, of the pains, the trials to face the Pure Ones,
Especially yours, Ya Aba Abdillah; so what were the calamities that Al-Hasanayn deemed?
They--the two grandsons--the leaders of youth, explained to their servant what he had left out,
Our mother had fallen to the ground while bleeding, the pain had caused her essence to shout,
While in charged the men, who did place the rope, around the pure neck of our father Ali,
Now hear of the tragedy, the two did narrate---their greatest museebah, in that moment came about.
Al-Hasan wal Husayn explained to the dreamer, that they did not know whether to run,
Outside to the street, in pursuit of their father, or help their dear mother, after what had been done,
Which parent, which beloved and proof of Allah, should they have approached or should have helped,
Young children they were, only a few years, but the hurt of that day, never left their vision... ... ...
--
Our
School
There is a school which we attend,
that is meant for students of any age,
The youth, the elders, men, women and children, you will see them all, at every
stage.
Clad in black, with eyes of sorrow, marching to class, in the day and the
night,
In this school we leave all else behind, the worldly has no place in our
focused sight.
We gather to learn history and its lessons, with attention we sit--it is a
sight to be seen,
For you see, our school, serves to train our nafs, our classes are for the
preservation of deen.
From Adam to Muhammad the lesson was one, Tawheed is that subject, on which we
will be tested,
Alhamdolillah, we are thankful that we, are among those who follow the truth
manifested.
For this truth, our second subject in school, is to understand the Justice of
the Divine,
Adalah is that Justice of Allah the All Mighty; this quality is perhaps the
grandest sign.
As the Just Creator, the One to be worshipped, would no doubt create a system
to send,
The knowledge of His Being, to reach the Earth's people, for to all in
creation, His reach does extend.
The prophethood, Nubuwwah, is this Divine plan, this method of placing a proof
of Allah on Earth,
Each prophet or messenger is brought to the people; he serves as a teacher, a
kind soul of great worth.
The final, perfect message, was given to that prophet, who is the best of
creation, from the first to the last,
Then revelation had ended, but a guardian was needed, and to Amir-ul-Momineen,
the Divine key was passed.
Ten Holy sons of the nafs of Muhammad, each came as a protector and leader of
Islam,
And the last, the eleventh son, that final shining Light, is the twelfth Divine
and Holy Imam.
His reign still exists, he is our true teacher--though at this time we suffice
with substitutes in our school,
Each teaches his message, the deen of his grandfather, until he emerges and
establishes his rule.
What are the other lessons, you ask, those that we study day in and day out?
Quran and the branches of religion--furooh ad-deen, are surely among our
studied courses, no doubt.
You might think that our school has long periods of break, is Muharram the only
time when we learn?
No--that is false, because the most sincere students, even in their homes, much
credit they earn.
And this is the beauty of our institute of learning, it is never confined to a
time or a place,
A masjid, any center, your home or the park: all these are venues to discuss
the Divine Grace.
In class we constantly say Shukranlillah, for indeed He has blessed us with the
most perfect gift,
The love of His Chosen Ones, is that ink in our pens, for without it, our goods
works would fade ever so swift.
You might ask how our status is ranked or is judged; what exams do we have in
this school of ours?
I would say every day is a test for the momin: do we cling to our deen, or
follow corrupt powers?
There are surely those days when all students come together: Ashura, Arbaeen,
Laylatul Qadr and more,
These are small tests to gauge our sincerity, to the City of Knowledge, and its
only Door.
Our final exam, the most important of all, will take place at a time that is
distant and far,
The Last Day is when, each student will be tried, no matter his school or who
his teachers are.
On that Day all your points, each credit will count, what will be the sum of
your every good deed?
The grades given will vary; you may pass or may fail, or be given punishment,
for any misdeed.
But can I state one truth of that final test, it is with care and caution that
I am obliged to say,
That the chance exists to earn the highest of grades, even if you have had
missteps in your way.
There is One in creation whose rank is such, that she is the nexus, the core,
of the Holiest Ones,
Your deen is her father's, your Mowla--her husband, and you have learned the
traditions through her pious sons.
She is the one who is gifted with the power, to mark a student with the most
special seal,
Her mohib and her Shi'a will be lighted on that Day, granted a rank that none
can conceal.
This one is no other but the daughter of the Prophet, her Noor is of the Noor
of Allah,
Her name is that, which calms the hearts of the pious, it suffices to say, that
she is Fatima.
The Prophet of Islam, the last of the chain, how did her refer to his only
daughter?
Innama Fatima badh'atun minni, his words are as clear as the most pure of
water.
“Verily Fatima is the only branch from me”; this is why their emotions are
forever connected,
The branch of Fatima is the life blood of the tree, but to where is this noble
branch directed?
Open the Holy Book and you will find, an example, that parable of a good word,
Kalimatan tayyiba, ka shajaratin tayyibah (14:24), the good word is like a good
tree, as heard.
Asluha thaabitun wa far’uha fis-samaa; its root is fixed firmly with its
branches in the sky,
Tu-ti akulaha kulla heenim bi idhni rabbiha (14:25), and it bears fruit all the
time, by permission of the Most High.
Remember that the Prophet, is the complete being, created as Perfect by
Al-Jawad Al-Kareem,
And every knowledge, every creation--does flow to this Earth, from his essence,
like a stream.
Thus the fruits of the tree, are born through the branch, every blessing, and
knowledge does flow from that One,
Zahra is such that she connects her father, to her husband, and indeed, to all
of her sons.
Fatima is the branch, the one who bears fruit, but this fact should not leave
you amazed nor surprised,
For she is Al-Kawthar, the Abundance without end; and indeed about her, Allah
has advised:
Wa maa ataakum ur-rasoolu, fa khudhuhu (59:7): and that which the Prophet had
brought, do take,
Is there anything or anyone else whom the Prophet, had brought, that the
Muslims should never forsake?
Here is where we find the essence of our school, which is tied to the ranks
given on the Last Day,
The love, the following and attachment to Fatima, is imprinted in our hearts,
and we will never betray…
That which Allah and the Prophet had taught; the emotions of Fatima affect both
the world and the Throne,
Fatima’s happiness, does gladden her father, and with the anger of Fatima, the
heavens do moan.
The anger of the Holiest Lady is such, that is causes the anger of Allah, the
Most Kind,
Allah is the Merciful, the Forgiving and more, yet there is a lesson to keep in
one’s mind.
Close your eyes, but expand your thoughts, to remember the tragedies of that
darkest of days,
The door that was burning, the hits from the sword, the slaps and the nail, and
even more ways…
In which that Light, the Rose from the Heavens, was hurt and did wither, can
you bear the pain?
You cannot--for if you understood the truth, you eyes would flow tears more
than Prophet Nuh’s rain.
A hand was broken, those ribs were crushed, and the child---Ya Mohsin, you are
the youngest shaheed,
For what crime were you killed? How madhloom are you, and your mother, on that
day, how much did she bleed?
A few months then passed, and a day had come, when the two young Lights, did
come to Ameer,
They rushed to the masjid, to inform their father, that Zahra had passed; the
sight was severe.
Here are the words that break the hearts and the backs, of every pious one from
the first to the last,
Who is Ali, Ameer ul-Momineen? What power does he hold, and what is his caste?
Ali is he who conquered Khaybar, who slayed the hypocrites and is the Lion of
Allah,
A warrior, the finest of Bani Hashim he is; he is the noble brother, and nafs
of Rasoolullah.
The Holy body of Ali contained many wounds, in how many battles did he fight
through and win?
Yet he never complained, and even prayed his salat, while an arrow was still
pierced through his skin.
This Lion, the strongest and most pious man, the one filled with sabr, looked
at Hasan and Husayn,
And he fell upon the ground, his patience had left; all we can say is that he
felt such pain…
That when the time came to bury his Love, the Light of his life and the mother
of his heirs,
He cried out in deep anguish: “I wish I were not, alive to see this state of
affairs.”
My Prophet, my Ameer, and their sons were oppressed, each did face the enemies of
Truth,
But ya Fatima, none of your family was such, that they left this world as the
most oppressed youth…
You were prevented from crying out loud, your rights were denied, and your
grief was such,
That if fallen on days, they would turn into nights; these words themselves do
pain me so much…
But the door that was burned, or the rights that were taken, these are only the
first modes of oppression,
Ya Zahra, in the past and even in the present, there are those who claim that
you faced no aggression.
The blessed Holy Light, from the tree of Tuba, and the Subhaan of Allah, indeed
you did come,
But you left in the darkness, in the quiet of night, this world was so harsh,
that you prayed to leave from…
This earth where those who oppressed you did live, this earth that distanced
you from your Holy father,
And what prayer did you make, Ya Zahra, I know---I have not forgotten, about
those who did bother.
Allahuma innahuma dhalama ibnata Muhammadin nabiyyika haqqaha, fashdud
wataataka ‘alayhima, was your prayer,
Ya Allah they have oppressed the right of Muhammad’s daughter, so increase your
anger on them, you did swear.
And yet there are those who deny these events, who say you were pleased with
the two evil men,
This is the greatest tragedy of all, and I believe it is why, I have been given
a pen…
To expand on the truth of what those try to hide: indeed Fatima was killed by
Saqifa’s plotting crew,
The son of Al-Khattab and Qunfudh, his slave, were among the fire-wielding and
treacherous few.
Believers, young and old, this is the message—if you are a true disciple of the
school,
You will never hide, the oppressors and their actions, for you know that these
deeds would ignite such a fuel,
That Zahra would consider you an oppressor, and you would be distanced from the
Mercy of Allah,
Do you see now, how very essential it is, to be firm in declaring the enemies
of Fatima?
Her day of shahadah, that day of darkness, to us, even its proper date is not
known,
While her grave is hidden from our eyes till that day, when her son will emerge
for it to be shown.
What are your duties, to this Holiest Light? In this time what justice can you
do to her name?
Remember her life, her struggles and all; and do not be afraid to declare or
proclaim…
That you are with her, her father, husband and children; you seek her knowledge
to refine your soul,
For you are a student of the best of schools, and to gain its diploma is your
ultimate goal.
That paper, that approval, that highest mark, can only be achieved if you
remember this day,
The day of her martyrdom, is a call to the hearts, of each one who claims to
follow the Straight Way.
Her majlis should be of the most intense zeal, for indeed her sons’ tragedies
began with her trauma,
Show your love to the Lights, so that Allah may be, pleased with your deeds on
Yaum ul-Qiyamah.
Ya Saadaat, O every son and daughter of Zahra, upon us there is a duty that we
must understand,
Turn back history to the fateful day when, the wasiyyah of Zahra was in Imam
Ali’s hand.
You know of that will, and of Sayyida’s wish, to be buried in the night, with
those certain conditions,
But the end of that letter, did tell of one task, for Mowla to engage in, a
continued transmission.
Waqra-a ‘ala wuldi as-salaam ila yaum il-akheer, were the ending words in that
Holy note,
And send upon my children, salaam until the Last Day; we can say this is
Sayyida’s final quote.
The message in this short sentence is clear; Imam Ali is asked to send the
salaam,
Of Fatima upon all her children in this world; Ya Saadaat, this statement you
must keep in your palm.
For you know that salaam, this greeting is such, that its reply is wajib on
whom it is sent,
This means that the ziyarah or salaam to Zahra, is wajib on the Sayyid, of the
past or the present.
The weight of this statement cannot be explained, and can you feel the pain
that is still upon us?
Our Holiest Mother, her grave is unknown, and the date of her death, the masses
still discuss.
The most central lesson, for that heart filled with Love, is to recognize that
to Zahra, there is so much we owe,
Khums is her right, upon every believer, but the reply to her salaam is what we
must bestow…
Day or night upon her most Holy soul, while remembering that she loves each
daughter and son,
So much that she sent her salaam upon them, from the earliest time, and until
this world is done.
When I think of the students in our humble school, I remember the noble Umme
Ayman,
When Zahra had passed, Madina--she left, to be in the wild, with the wind and
the sun.
Her thirst was heavy, and no water was near, so what did this great student
then do?
Ya Rab ana khadimatu Fatima, she said; my Lord, I am a servant of Fatima, so
true.
What came from the heavens, or from that unknown space, was a gift, that drink
which did quench her thirst,
To the extent that her body did not need, food or drink; for years, she was so
Divinely immersed…
For what reason, why was this servant so blessed? To me, this truth could not
be more clear,
To fully submit oneself to Allah, is to know and to keep, the love of Fatima
near.
And this truth will lead you back to our class, our school which we attend each
day after next,
Any good student, who strives to excel, does protect and take care of his
books, every text.
What is the cover of every book of ours? What is that protection, that keeps
our work secure?
The love and the instinct to know Fatima, is that binding and cover, of every
text, for sure.
This is not a secret--the world must know, that our classes, our texts, are in
their essence, Shi’a,
And for this reason the greatest name of our school, is this title: we are, The
School of Fatimiyyah.
Our school is built upon tears and that blood, the blood of the shuhada, from
the earliest days,
Truth is our paper, tawalla is our ink, while tabarra is the very pen that we
raise,
To sign and declare that we adhere to all Truth, every session and lesson we
have taken and learned,
We hope on the Last Day, to be among those, who say ‘The diploma of Zahra we
have earned!’
To be a light, to be of the Shi’a, on that Day, each sincere one prays for this
fate,
Ya Allah, include us among the lovers of Fatima, for this is the only way for
one to graduate.
-Fatima Ali
Jamadul Aakhir, 1433
--
--
There is a school which we attend,
that is meant for students of any age,
The youth, the elders, men, women and children, you will see them all, at every stage.
Clad in black, with eyes of sorrow, marching to class, in the day and the night,
In this school we leave all else behind, the worldly has no place in our focused sight.
We gather to learn history and its lessons, with attention we sit--it is a sight to be seen,
For you see, our school, serves to train our nafs, our classes are for the preservation of deen.
From Adam to Muhammad the lesson was one, Tawheed is that subject, on which we will be tested,
Alhamdolillah, we are thankful that we, are among those who follow the truth manifested.
For this truth, our second subject in school, is to understand the Justice of the Divine,
Adalah is that Justice of Allah the All Mighty; this quality is perhaps the grandest sign.
As the Just Creator, the One to be worshipped, would no doubt create a system to send,
The knowledge of His Being, to reach the Earth's people, for to all in creation, His reach does extend.
The prophethood, Nubuwwah, is this Divine plan, this method of placing a proof of Allah on Earth,
Each prophet or messenger is brought to the people; he serves as a teacher, a kind soul of great worth.
The final, perfect message, was given to that prophet, who is the best of creation, from the first to the last,
Then revelation had ended, but a guardian was needed, and to Amir-ul-Momineen, the Divine key was passed.
Ten Holy sons of the nafs of Muhammad, each came as a protector and leader of Islam,
And the last, the eleventh son, that final shining Light, is the twelfth Divine and Holy Imam.
His reign still exists, he is our true teacher--though at this time we suffice with substitutes in our school,
Each teaches his message, the deen of his grandfather, until he emerges and establishes his rule.
What are the other lessons, you ask, those that we study day in and day out?
Quran and the branches of religion--furooh ad-deen, are surely among our studied courses, no doubt.
You might think that our school has long periods of break, is Muharram the only time when we learn?
No--that is false, because the most sincere students, even in their homes, much credit they earn.
And this is the beauty of our institute of learning, it is never confined to a time or a place,
A masjid, any center, your home or the park: all these are venues to discuss the Divine Grace.
In class we constantly say Shukranlillah, for indeed He has blessed us with the most perfect gift,
The love of His Chosen Ones, is that ink in our pens, for without it, our goods works would fade ever so swift.
You might ask how our status is ranked or is judged; what exams do we have in this school of ours?
I would say every day is a test for the momin: do we cling to our deen, or follow corrupt powers?
There are surely those days when all students come together: Ashura, Arbaeen, Laylatul Qadr and more,
These are small tests to gauge our sincerity, to the City of Knowledge, and its only Door.
Our final exam, the most important of all, will take place at a time that is distant and far,
The Last Day is when, each student will be tried, no matter his school or who his teachers are.
On that Day all your points, each credit will count, what will be the sum of your every good deed?
The grades given will vary; you may pass or may fail, or be given punishment, for any misdeed.
But can I state one truth of that final test, it is with care and caution that I am obliged to say,
That the chance exists to earn the highest of grades, even if you have had missteps in your way.
There is One in creation whose rank is such, that she is the nexus, the core, of the Holiest Ones,
Your deen is her father's, your Mowla--her husband, and you have learned the traditions through her pious sons.
She is the one who is gifted with the power, to mark a student with the most special seal,
Her mohib and her Shi'a will be lighted on that Day, granted a rank that none can conceal.
This one is no other but the daughter of the Prophet, her Noor is of the Noor of Allah,
Her name is that, which calms the hearts of the pious, it suffices to say, that she is Fatima.
The Prophet of Islam, the last of the chain, how did her refer to his only daughter?
Innama Fatima badh'atun minni, his words are as clear as the most pure of water.
“Verily Fatima is the only branch from me”; this is why their emotions are forever connected,
The branch of Fatima is the life blood of the tree, but to where is this noble branch directed?
Open the Holy Book and you will find, an example, that parable of a good word,
Kalimatan tayyiba, ka shajaratin tayyibah (14:24), the good word is like a good tree, as heard.
Asluha thaabitun wa far’uha fis-samaa; its root is fixed firmly with its branches in the sky,
Tu-ti akulaha kulla heenim bi idhni rabbiha (14:25), and it bears fruit all the time, by permission of the Most High.
Remember that the Prophet, is the complete being, created as Perfect by Al-Jawad Al-Kareem,
And every knowledge, every creation--does flow to this Earth, from his essence, like a stream.
Thus the fruits of the tree, are born through the branch, every blessing, and knowledge does flow from that One,
Zahra is such that she connects her father, to her husband, and indeed, to all of her sons.
Fatima is the branch, the one who bears fruit, but this fact should not leave you amazed nor surprised,
For she is Al-Kawthar, the Abundance without end; and indeed about her, Allah has advised:
Wa maa ataakum ur-rasoolu, fa khudhuhu (59:7): and that which the Prophet had brought, do take,
Is there anything or anyone else whom the Prophet, had brought, that the Muslims should never forsake?
Here is where we find the essence of our school, which is tied to the ranks given on the Last Day,
The love, the following and attachment to Fatima, is imprinted in our hearts, and we will never betray…
That which Allah and the Prophet had taught; the emotions of Fatima affect both the world and the Throne,
Fatima’s happiness, does gladden her father, and with the anger of Fatima, the heavens do moan.
The anger of the Holiest Lady is such, that is causes the anger of Allah, the Most Kind,
Allah is the Merciful, the Forgiving and more, yet there is a lesson to keep in one’s mind.
Close your eyes, but expand your thoughts, to remember the tragedies of that darkest of days,
The door that was burning, the hits from the sword, the slaps and the nail, and even more ways…
In which that Light, the Rose from the Heavens, was hurt and did wither, can you bear the pain?
You cannot--for if you understood the truth, you eyes would flow tears more than Prophet Nuh’s rain.
A hand was broken, those ribs were crushed, and the child---Ya Mohsin, you are the youngest shaheed,
For what crime were you killed? How madhloom are you, and your mother, on that day, how much did she bleed?
A few months then passed, and a day had come, when the two young Lights, did come to Ameer,
They rushed to the masjid, to inform their father, that Zahra had passed; the sight was severe.
Here are the words that break the hearts and the backs, of every pious one from the first to the last,
Who is Ali, Ameer ul-Momineen? What power does he hold, and what is his caste?
Ali is he who conquered Khaybar, who slayed the hypocrites and is the Lion of Allah,
A warrior, the finest of Bani Hashim he is; he is the noble brother, and nafs of Rasoolullah.
The Holy body of Ali contained many wounds, in how many battles did he fight through and win?
Yet he never complained, and even prayed his salat, while an arrow was still pierced through his skin.
This Lion, the strongest and most pious man, the one filled with sabr, looked at Hasan and Husayn,
And he fell upon the ground, his patience had left; all we can say is that he felt such pain…
That when the time came to bury his Love, the Light of his life and the mother of his heirs,
He cried out in deep anguish: “I wish I were not, alive to see this state of affairs.”
My Prophet, my Ameer, and their sons were oppressed, each did face the enemies of Truth,
But ya Fatima, none of your family was such, that they left this world as the most oppressed youth…
You were prevented from crying out loud, your rights were denied, and your grief was such,
That if fallen on days, they would turn into nights; these words themselves do pain me so much…
But the door that was burned, or the rights that were taken, these are only the first modes of oppression,
Ya Zahra, in the past and even in the present, there are those who claim that you faced no aggression.
The blessed Holy Light, from the tree of Tuba, and the Subhaan of Allah, indeed you did come,
But you left in the darkness, in the quiet of night, this world was so harsh, that you prayed to leave from…
This earth where those who oppressed you did live, this earth that distanced you from your Holy father,
And what prayer did you make, Ya Zahra, I know---I have not forgotten, about those who did bother.
Allahuma innahuma dhalama ibnata Muhammadin nabiyyika haqqaha, fashdud wataataka ‘alayhima, was your prayer,
Ya Allah they have oppressed the right of Muhammad’s daughter, so increase your anger on them, you did swear.
And yet there are those who deny these events, who say you were pleased with the two evil men,
This is the greatest tragedy of all, and I believe it is why, I have been given a pen…
To expand on the truth of what those try to hide: indeed Fatima was killed by Saqifa’s plotting crew,
The son of Al-Khattab and Qunfudh, his slave, were among the fire-wielding and treacherous few.
Believers, young and old, this is the message—if you are a true disciple of the school,
You will never hide, the oppressors and their actions, for you know that these deeds would ignite such a fuel,
That Zahra would consider you an oppressor, and you would be distanced from the Mercy of Allah,
Do you see now, how very essential it is, to be firm in declaring the enemies of Fatima?
Her day of shahadah, that day of darkness, to us, even its proper date is not known,
While her grave is hidden from our eyes till that day, when her son will emerge for it to be shown.
What are your duties, to this Holiest Light? In this time what justice can you do to her name?
Remember her life, her struggles and all; and do not be afraid to declare or proclaim…
That you are with her, her father, husband and children; you seek her knowledge to refine your soul,
For you are a student of the best of schools, and to gain its diploma is your ultimate goal.
That paper, that approval, that highest mark, can only be achieved if you remember this day,
The day of her martyrdom, is a call to the hearts, of each one who claims to follow the Straight Way.
Her majlis should be of the most intense zeal, for indeed her sons’ tragedies began with her trauma,
Show your love to the Lights, so that Allah may be, pleased with your deeds on Yaum ul-Qiyamah.
Ya Saadaat, O every son and daughter of Zahra, upon us there is a duty that we must understand,
Turn back history to the fateful day when, the wasiyyah of Zahra was in Imam Ali’s hand.
You know of that will, and of Sayyida’s wish, to be buried in the night, with those certain conditions,
But the end of that letter, did tell of one task, for Mowla to engage in, a continued transmission.
Waqra-a ‘ala wuldi as-salaam ila yaum il-akheer, were the ending words in that Holy note,
And send upon my children, salaam until the Last Day; we can say this is Sayyida’s final quote.
The message in this short sentence is clear; Imam Ali is asked to send the salaam,
Of Fatima upon all her children in this world; Ya Saadaat, this statement you must keep in your palm.
For you know that salaam, this greeting is such, that its reply is wajib on whom it is sent,
This means that the ziyarah or salaam to Zahra, is wajib on the Sayyid, of the past or the present.
The weight of this statement cannot be explained, and can you feel the pain that is still upon us?
Our Holiest Mother, her grave is unknown, and the date of her death, the masses still discuss.
The most central lesson, for that heart filled with Love, is to recognize that to Zahra, there is so much we owe,
Khums is her right, upon every believer, but the reply to her salaam is what we must bestow…
Day or night upon her most Holy soul, while remembering that she loves each daughter and son,
So much that she sent her salaam upon them, from the earliest time, and until this world is done.
When I think of the students in our humble school, I remember the noble Umme Ayman,
When Zahra had passed, Madina--she left, to be in the wild, with the wind and the sun.
Her thirst was heavy, and no water was near, so what did this great student then do?
Ya Rab ana khadimatu Fatima, she said; my Lord, I am a servant of Fatima, so true.
What came from the heavens, or from that unknown space, was a gift, that drink which did quench her thirst,
To the extent that her body did not need, food or drink; for years, she was so Divinely immersed…
For what reason, why was this servant so blessed? To me, this truth could not be more clear,
To fully submit oneself to Allah, is to know and to keep, the love of Fatima near.
And this truth will lead you back to our class, our school which we attend each day after next,
Any good student, who strives to excel, does protect and take care of his books, every text.
What is the cover of every book of ours? What is that protection, that keeps our work secure?
The love and the instinct to know Fatima, is that binding and cover, of every text, for sure.
This is not a secret--the world must know, that our classes, our texts, are in their essence, Shi’a,
And for this reason the greatest name of our school, is this title: we are, The School of Fatimiyyah.
Our school is built upon tears and that blood, the blood of the shuhada, from the earliest days,
Truth is our paper, tawalla is our ink, while tabarra is the very pen that we raise,
To sign and declare that we adhere to all Truth, every session and lesson we have taken and learned,
We hope on the Last Day, to be among those, who say ‘The diploma of Zahra we have earned!’
To be a light, to be of the Shi’a, on that Day, each sincere one prays for this fate,
Ya Allah, include us among the lovers of Fatima, for this is the only way for one to graduate.
-Fatima Ali
Jamadul Aakhir, 1433
The youth, the elders, men, women and children, you will see them all, at every stage.
Clad in black, with eyes of sorrow, marching to class, in the day and the night,
In this school we leave all else behind, the worldly has no place in our focused sight.
We gather to learn history and its lessons, with attention we sit--it is a sight to be seen,
For you see, our school, serves to train our nafs, our classes are for the preservation of deen.
From Adam to Muhammad the lesson was one, Tawheed is that subject, on which we will be tested,
Alhamdolillah, we are thankful that we, are among those who follow the truth manifested.
For this truth, our second subject in school, is to understand the Justice of the Divine,
Adalah is that Justice of Allah the All Mighty; this quality is perhaps the grandest sign.
As the Just Creator, the One to be worshipped, would no doubt create a system to send,
The knowledge of His Being, to reach the Earth's people, for to all in creation, His reach does extend.
The prophethood, Nubuwwah, is this Divine plan, this method of placing a proof of Allah on Earth,
Each prophet or messenger is brought to the people; he serves as a teacher, a kind soul of great worth.
The final, perfect message, was given to that prophet, who is the best of creation, from the first to the last,
Then revelation had ended, but a guardian was needed, and to Amir-ul-Momineen, the Divine key was passed.
Ten Holy sons of the nafs of Muhammad, each came as a protector and leader of Islam,
And the last, the eleventh son, that final shining Light, is the twelfth Divine and Holy Imam.
His reign still exists, he is our true teacher--though at this time we suffice with substitutes in our school,
Each teaches his message, the deen of his grandfather, until he emerges and establishes his rule.
What are the other lessons, you ask, those that we study day in and day out?
Quran and the branches of religion--furooh ad-deen, are surely among our studied courses, no doubt.
You might think that our school has long periods of break, is Muharram the only time when we learn?
No--that is false, because the most sincere students, even in their homes, much credit they earn.
And this is the beauty of our institute of learning, it is never confined to a time or a place,
A masjid, any center, your home or the park: all these are venues to discuss the Divine Grace.
In class we constantly say Shukranlillah, for indeed He has blessed us with the most perfect gift,
The love of His Chosen Ones, is that ink in our pens, for without it, our goods works would fade ever so swift.
You might ask how our status is ranked or is judged; what exams do we have in this school of ours?
I would say every day is a test for the momin: do we cling to our deen, or follow corrupt powers?
There are surely those days when all students come together: Ashura, Arbaeen, Laylatul Qadr and more,
These are small tests to gauge our sincerity, to the City of Knowledge, and its only Door.
Our final exam, the most important of all, will take place at a time that is distant and far,
The Last Day is when, each student will be tried, no matter his school or who his teachers are.
On that Day all your points, each credit will count, what will be the sum of your every good deed?
The grades given will vary; you may pass or may fail, or be given punishment, for any misdeed.
But can I state one truth of that final test, it is with care and caution that I am obliged to say,
That the chance exists to earn the highest of grades, even if you have had missteps in your way.
There is One in creation whose rank is such, that she is the nexus, the core, of the Holiest Ones,
Your deen is her father's, your Mowla--her husband, and you have learned the traditions through her pious sons.
She is the one who is gifted with the power, to mark a student with the most special seal,
Her mohib and her Shi'a will be lighted on that Day, granted a rank that none can conceal.
This one is no other but the daughter of the Prophet, her Noor is of the Noor of Allah,
Her name is that, which calms the hearts of the pious, it suffices to say, that she is Fatima.
The Prophet of Islam, the last of the chain, how did her refer to his only daughter?
Innama Fatima badh'atun minni, his words are as clear as the most pure of water.
“Verily Fatima is the only branch from me”; this is why their emotions are forever connected,
The branch of Fatima is the life blood of the tree, but to where is this noble branch directed?
Open the Holy Book and you will find, an example, that parable of a good word,
Kalimatan tayyiba, ka shajaratin tayyibah (14:24), the good word is like a good tree, as heard.
Asluha thaabitun wa far’uha fis-samaa; its root is fixed firmly with its branches in the sky,
Tu-ti akulaha kulla heenim bi idhni rabbiha (14:25), and it bears fruit all the time, by permission of the Most High.
Remember that the Prophet, is the complete being, created as Perfect by Al-Jawad Al-Kareem,
And every knowledge, every creation--does flow to this Earth, from his essence, like a stream.
Thus the fruits of the tree, are born through the branch, every blessing, and knowledge does flow from that One,
Zahra is such that she connects her father, to her husband, and indeed, to all of her sons.
Fatima is the branch, the one who bears fruit, but this fact should not leave you amazed nor surprised,
For she is Al-Kawthar, the Abundance without end; and indeed about her, Allah has advised:
Wa maa ataakum ur-rasoolu, fa khudhuhu (59:7): and that which the Prophet had brought, do take,
Is there anything or anyone else whom the Prophet, had brought, that the Muslims should never forsake?
Here is where we find the essence of our school, which is tied to the ranks given on the Last Day,
The love, the following and attachment to Fatima, is imprinted in our hearts, and we will never betray…
That which Allah and the Prophet had taught; the emotions of Fatima affect both the world and the Throne,
Fatima’s happiness, does gladden her father, and with the anger of Fatima, the heavens do moan.
The anger of the Holiest Lady is such, that is causes the anger of Allah, the Most Kind,
Allah is the Merciful, the Forgiving and more, yet there is a lesson to keep in one’s mind.
Close your eyes, but expand your thoughts, to remember the tragedies of that darkest of days,
The door that was burning, the hits from the sword, the slaps and the nail, and even more ways…
In which that Light, the Rose from the Heavens, was hurt and did wither, can you bear the pain?
You cannot--for if you understood the truth, you eyes would flow tears more than Prophet Nuh’s rain.
A hand was broken, those ribs were crushed, and the child---Ya Mohsin, you are the youngest shaheed,
For what crime were you killed? How madhloom are you, and your mother, on that day, how much did she bleed?
A few months then passed, and a day had come, when the two young Lights, did come to Ameer,
They rushed to the masjid, to inform their father, that Zahra had passed; the sight was severe.
Here are the words that break the hearts and the backs, of every pious one from the first to the last,
Who is Ali, Ameer ul-Momineen? What power does he hold, and what is his caste?
Ali is he who conquered Khaybar, who slayed the hypocrites and is the Lion of Allah,
A warrior, the finest of Bani Hashim he is; he is the noble brother, and nafs of Rasoolullah.
The Holy body of Ali contained many wounds, in how many battles did he fight through and win?
Yet he never complained, and even prayed his salat, while an arrow was still pierced through his skin.
This Lion, the strongest and most pious man, the one filled with sabr, looked at Hasan and Husayn,
And he fell upon the ground, his patience had left; all we can say is that he felt such pain…
That when the time came to bury his Love, the Light of his life and the mother of his heirs,
He cried out in deep anguish: “I wish I were not, alive to see this state of affairs.”
My Prophet, my Ameer, and their sons were oppressed, each did face the enemies of Truth,
But ya Fatima, none of your family was such, that they left this world as the most oppressed youth…
You were prevented from crying out loud, your rights were denied, and your grief was such,
That if fallen on days, they would turn into nights; these words themselves do pain me so much…
But the door that was burned, or the rights that were taken, these are only the first modes of oppression,
Ya Zahra, in the past and even in the present, there are those who claim that you faced no aggression.
The blessed Holy Light, from the tree of Tuba, and the Subhaan of Allah, indeed you did come,
But you left in the darkness, in the quiet of night, this world was so harsh, that you prayed to leave from…
This earth where those who oppressed you did live, this earth that distanced you from your Holy father,
And what prayer did you make, Ya Zahra, I know---I have not forgotten, about those who did bother.
Allahuma innahuma dhalama ibnata Muhammadin nabiyyika haqqaha, fashdud wataataka ‘alayhima, was your prayer,
Ya Allah they have oppressed the right of Muhammad’s daughter, so increase your anger on them, you did swear.
And yet there are those who deny these events, who say you were pleased with the two evil men,
This is the greatest tragedy of all, and I believe it is why, I have been given a pen…
To expand on the truth of what those try to hide: indeed Fatima was killed by Saqifa’s plotting crew,
The son of Al-Khattab and Qunfudh, his slave, were among the fire-wielding and treacherous few.
Believers, young and old, this is the message—if you are a true disciple of the school,
You will never hide, the oppressors and their actions, for you know that these deeds would ignite such a fuel,
That Zahra would consider you an oppressor, and you would be distanced from the Mercy of Allah,
Do you see now, how very essential it is, to be firm in declaring the enemies of Fatima?
Her day of shahadah, that day of darkness, to us, even its proper date is not known,
While her grave is hidden from our eyes till that day, when her son will emerge for it to be shown.
What are your duties, to this Holiest Light? In this time what justice can you do to her name?
Remember her life, her struggles and all; and do not be afraid to declare or proclaim…
That you are with her, her father, husband and children; you seek her knowledge to refine your soul,
For you are a student of the best of schools, and to gain its diploma is your ultimate goal.
That paper, that approval, that highest mark, can only be achieved if you remember this day,
The day of her martyrdom, is a call to the hearts, of each one who claims to follow the Straight Way.
Her majlis should be of the most intense zeal, for indeed her sons’ tragedies began with her trauma,
Show your love to the Lights, so that Allah may be, pleased with your deeds on Yaum ul-Qiyamah.
Ya Saadaat, O every son and daughter of Zahra, upon us there is a duty that we must understand,
Turn back history to the fateful day when, the wasiyyah of Zahra was in Imam Ali’s hand.
You know of that will, and of Sayyida’s wish, to be buried in the night, with those certain conditions,
But the end of that letter, did tell of one task, for Mowla to engage in, a continued transmission.
Waqra-a ‘ala wuldi as-salaam ila yaum il-akheer, were the ending words in that Holy note,
And send upon my children, salaam until the Last Day; we can say this is Sayyida’s final quote.
The message in this short sentence is clear; Imam Ali is asked to send the salaam,
Of Fatima upon all her children in this world; Ya Saadaat, this statement you must keep in your palm.
For you know that salaam, this greeting is such, that its reply is wajib on whom it is sent,
This means that the ziyarah or salaam to Zahra, is wajib on the Sayyid, of the past or the present.
The weight of this statement cannot be explained, and can you feel the pain that is still upon us?
Our Holiest Mother, her grave is unknown, and the date of her death, the masses still discuss.
The most central lesson, for that heart filled with Love, is to recognize that to Zahra, there is so much we owe,
Khums is her right, upon every believer, but the reply to her salaam is what we must bestow…
Day or night upon her most Holy soul, while remembering that she loves each daughter and son,
So much that she sent her salaam upon them, from the earliest time, and until this world is done.
When I think of the students in our humble school, I remember the noble Umme Ayman,
When Zahra had passed, Madina--she left, to be in the wild, with the wind and the sun.
Her thirst was heavy, and no water was near, so what did this great student then do?
Ya Rab ana khadimatu Fatima, she said; my Lord, I am a servant of Fatima, so true.
What came from the heavens, or from that unknown space, was a gift, that drink which did quench her thirst,
To the extent that her body did not need, food or drink; for years, she was so Divinely immersed…
For what reason, why was this servant so blessed? To me, this truth could not be more clear,
To fully submit oneself to Allah, is to know and to keep, the love of Fatima near.
And this truth will lead you back to our class, our school which we attend each day after next,
Any good student, who strives to excel, does protect and take care of his books, every text.
What is the cover of every book of ours? What is that protection, that keeps our work secure?
The love and the instinct to know Fatima, is that binding and cover, of every text, for sure.
This is not a secret--the world must know, that our classes, our texts, are in their essence, Shi’a,
And for this reason the greatest name of our school, is this title: we are, The School of Fatimiyyah.
Our school is built upon tears and that blood, the blood of the shuhada, from the earliest days,
Truth is our paper, tawalla is our ink, while tabarra is the very pen that we raise,
To sign and declare that we adhere to all Truth, every session and lesson we have taken and learned,
We hope on the Last Day, to be among those, who say ‘The diploma of Zahra we have earned!’
To be a light, to be of the Shi’a, on that Day, each sincere one prays for this fate,
Ya Allah, include us among the lovers of Fatima, for this is the only way for one to graduate.
-Fatima Ali
Jamadul Aakhir, 1433
--
Sisterhood.
For all my sisters, especially RN
and ZR.
~
I say that while many stepped away
from the path,
Full of flaws are our lives, as
upon ourselves we bring shame,
Day by day we do enter, those
halls which bring peace,
Focus we may lack, and no doubt
our minds wander,
Our first school this was, where
the soul's training we received,
Allaho Akbar, Salawat, and Ya
Husayn we did hear,
Now we have grown, as adults in
our own right,
But do you see the nobility of the
youth in this day,
They choose to continue the
training of their soul,
Above us tower black flags,
written Allah, Muhammad, Ali,
And then there is Fatima, that
Divine Mother whom we call,
The next flag is of Hasan, one
half of the youth's kings,
Ya Husayn we did call, out of
breath and without rest,
On Shab-e-Ashura, or a
shab-bedari--do we not step away from life,
These intimate moments, are the
height, I believe,
Our brothers, in groups, carry
azadari North to South,
Those hands stain their chests, as
solid markers of deen,
And what of that mouth, the Divine
gift of voice?
Whether brothers' or sisters', the
goal is but one,
But my sisters, there is more of a
weight that we carry,
The nation we hold, the
foundations of Islam,
Evil tried but did fail, to erase
names of Might,
One thousand years later, the
traditions still stand,
Ask me what is sisterhood, and
without pause I will say,
My sisters are those with whom I
have cried,
We confess that our sins have
rendered us weak,
Our negligence does hinder our
duties to you,
Imam Sadiq asked Allah to be
Merciful to those eyes,
That these tears are both weapons
and saviors for us all,
When your lovers--indeed those of
your father, husband and sons,
My Queen, Noble Mother, and Master
of my heart,
In this world, we have faults, but
please keep us blessed,
Ya Fatima, in your shadow, let us
always remain,
--
By the dua of Fatima we stand
tonight, azadari does flow inside us like blood,
These daughters of Haqq were in
ropes and in chains, imprisoned by the wicked and surely the worst,
The daughters of Light never
abandoned one act--do you know what worship they engaged in at night?
We strive to be the servants of
Zahra, the lovers of her family who mourn for her son,
For true love of Zahra is the love
of Allah, submission to Truth, by training the soul,
--
*****
POETRY BY FATIMA ALI
*****
Posted here on this blog with her kind permission.
_________
For all my sisters, especially RN
and ZR.
With love always.
~
They say the youth have left the
masajid, forgotten their roots,
Been consumed with this world,
while abandoning truths.
I say that while many stepped away
from the path,
There are those who still feel,
both Allah's love and His wrath.
Full of flaws are our lives, as
upon ourselves we bring shame,
Yet within us is a spark--a
continuous burning flame.
Day by day we do enter, those
halls which bring peace,
For namaz, dua, aamal, majalis,
all worldly activities do cease.
Focus we may lack, and no doubt
our minds wander,
But those moments exist, when a
Divine concept we do ponder.
Our first school this was, where
the soul's training we received,
While guarded in our noble
mothers, a holy aura was perceived.
Allaho Akbar, Salawat, and Ya
Husayn we did hear,
The echoes of which, are to our
hearts ever near.
Now we have grown, as adults in
our own right,
The possibilites are endless, to
do wrong day or night.
But do you see the nobility of the
youth in this day,
Those who cling toward the
centers, as their Rope toward The Way?
They choose to continue the
training of their soul,
As within the walls of the masjid,
or imambargah--they feel whole.
Above us tower black flags,
written Allah, Muhammad, Ali,
These three names do cement, the
young momin's identity.
And then there is Fatima, that
Divine Mother whom we call,
The ever-giving, Al-Kawthar--she
visits and watches all.
The next flag is of Hasan, one
half of the youth's kings,
And lastly is Husayn--tears and
passion his name brings.
Ya Husayn we did call, out of
breath and without rest,
As arms reached for the sky, then
fell back to our chest.
On Shab-e-Ashura, or a
shab-bedari--do we not step away from life,
Leaving behind school and work,
business, pressures and all strife?
These intimate moments, are the
height, I believe,
Of the expression of Truth, for
through Lighted passion we grieve.
Our brothers, in groups, carry
azadari North to South,
And East to West they travel--with
no provisions but hand and mouth.
Those hands stain their chests, as
solid markers of deen,
Yet they don't hurt themselves,
but slap the roots of munafiqeen.
And what of that mouth, the Divine
gift of voice?
How we use that great gift, is
indeed a personal choice.
Whether brothers' or sisters', the
goal is but one,
To reach toward Al-Haqq, while
batil we shun.
But my sisters, there is more of a
weight that we carry,
That perhaps we will feel, as we
grow and do marry.
The nation we hold, the
foundations of Islam,
For we are daughters of
Truth--that Truth spoken in Shaam.
Evil tried but did fail, to erase
names of Might,
As mothers narrated tales, of the
Heroes of Right.
One thousand years later, the
traditions still stand,
While oceans away, from that
Holiest land.
Ask me what is sisterhood, and
without pause I will say,
That it is based on Pure Love, and
the pain of That Day.
My sisters are those with whom I
have cried,
In whose hearts, the sorrow of
Zahra does reside.
We confess that our sins have
rendered us weak,
But Ya Zahra, to be your true
daughters we seek.
Our negligence does hinder our
duties to you,
But your Love fills our souls, a
Love Pure and True.
Imam Sadiq asked Allah to be
Merciful to those eyes,
That cried grieving for your
family--and we are those who recognize--
That these tears are both weapons
and saviors for us all,
For on The Day, Ya Zahra, we will
wait to hear the call.
When your lovers--indeed those of
your father, husband and sons,
Will be granted your nearness, as
you call them your dear ones.
My Queen, Noble Mother, and Master
of my heart,
Let my sisters and I be, near
you---never apart.
In this world, we have faults, but
please keep us blessed,
Let us retain this sisterhood, in
this world and the next.
Ya Fatima, in your shadow, let us
always remain,
For azadari is more close, that
our own jugular vein.
--
By the dua of Fatima we stand tonight, azadari does flow inside us like blood,
When we hear the tragedies of
Ahlulbayt, the eyes begin to release their flood,
From Karbala to Kufa, then Kufa to
Shaam, in these days we remember that journey of tears,
Ya Zahra, your daughters were
subjected to pain, we remember this, even after hundreds of years.
These daughters of Haqq were in
ropes and in chains, imprisoned by the wicked and surely the worst,
Imam as-Sajjad, the women and
children, all grieved for the one who was killed while in thirst,
But these noble ones never lost
hope in Allah, in each step of that journey they indeed did pray,
Reciting Quran, tasbeeh and dua,
this caravan of the pious followed the Straight Way.
The daughters of Light never
abandoned one act--do you know what worship they engaged in at night?
Salatul Layl is that deep
conversation with Allah, which the nobles read, even in that prison of no
light,
The night prayer, among the
mustahab acts is such, that its rank only Allah does truly know,
So stand for this salat, in the
quietest hours, and InshaAllah your face will show your soul's glow.
We strive to be the servants of
Zahra, the lovers of her family who mourn for her son,
Then remember that this Queen
never missed the night prayer, that salat where she spoke to the Holiest
One,
What is this shab bedari but a
gift for Sayyida, our words and remembrance, that we send to her heart?
May our matam and tears be
accepted and serve, as the means for our growth...this is only the
start...
For true love of Zahra is the love
of Allah, submission to Truth, by training the soul,
Hold tight to the wajib and
mustahab acts, as nearness to Allah is the ultimate goal,
Let this shab bedari be a call to
Fatima, Ya Maulaati, by our remembrance may your heart be relieved,
And we end with the prayers,
Salatul Layl and Al-Fajr, with the hope that the pleasure of Allah is
achieved.
*****
POETRY BY FATIMA ALI
Posted here on this blog with her kind permission.
_________
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