Prepare, My Brother

There is no day like yours, so prepare for it O’ brother
I’ll give my Qassim away and you give away Akbar

* * *

The time has come, O’ my brother, and calls my soul my Lord
The poison strangles my throat and it tugs on my soul’s chord
You’re me and I’m you – we are the two prongs of Ali’s sword
Today I leave and broken is the sword of our father

* * *

Our love’s not the love of brothers; in fact our soul is one
When my soul departs my body, you’ll feel your soul has gone
Of Twelve Imams, there are no brothers – like us is no-one
Our bond is light, and it is the light of our grandfather

* * *

Truth is a lonely path brother, and I’ve been so alone
It’s as if even my skin has run away from my bone
Men have deserted me and put a tyrant on a throne
Khidr looks at me and he wonders who is lonelier

* * *

In our youth, on Muhammad’s own back we were positioned
Muhammad has been forgotten, and here I am poisoned
Even Nuh had a few followers that to him listened
Yet here I am, left abandoned, choking up my liver

* * *

I ask to be buried by Muhammad, but know I know
We’ll be blocked off by those that yearn a dead man’s blood to flow
You’ll see my coffin impaled with arrow after arrow
Be gentle when taking them out, for my bones may shatter

* * *

Tell our Abbas when he sees all this to keep his sword sheathed
The last breath you breathe will not be like the last breath I’ve breathed
A day will come when our Abbas must keep his sword unsheathed
It will come with your daughters crying, “please bring us water”

* * *

It may be that you weep over me as on death I lay
But know my brother that there is no day that’s like your day
My soul may leave and it may brush your hair, turning it grey
But when your soul leaves, it will take the soul of your daughter

* * *

It may be that when I leave that your back will be broken
Dare I ask that when Abbas falls, to it what will happen?
It may be that when I die my hands on yours will tighten
When Abbas dies with what hands will he hold yours I wonder?

* * *

It may be that Jo’da killed me, whom God will not forgive
But at least I won’t see my wife and daughters taken as captives
Hussain it may be that our sister after you shall live
But from all the ash we won’t recognize our own sister

* * *

It may be that my soul through my neck, it shall be leaving
But how will yours leave your neck when from it blood is gushing?
If it waits for bleeding to end, how long will it be waiting?
If it sees that you have no head, it will weep forever

* * *

O’ my beloved, know that transcends worlds does our brotherhood
You’ll stand alone in Taf just like in Mada’in I stood
I would be there, side-by-side with you, if only I could
We’ll stand back to back, against thousands with our flagbearer

* * *

But I can’t be there, so I have left you my son instead
If his blood bleeds it will be as if my own blood has bled
The sand he walks on will be as if on it I have tread
You’ll have no Hassan, but of me I have left a mirror

* * *
No father reaches his end, for his son grows up like him
You have Ali Akbar my brother, and I have Qassim
Brother, make sure you look after him, my most cherished gem
When he wants to go to the battle, give him his armour

* * *

When he hears your daughters crying, give Qassim my turban
The sons of Hassan are honored to die for your children
Don’t see him as a child, I see him as a lion
Defending the cubs of Hussain, a courageous soldier

* * *

But my brother, if he is struck, run out to his body
The swords will chew him up and tear away my son’s beauty
When you carry him, that’s if his body you can carry
I’ll be holding him too, and we’ll take him to his mother

* * *

Brother when you see your Ali Akber fall and you fall
Know I fell seeing my Qassim struck on his head, so small
Across the desert the small body of my son they’ll haul
Don’t think that because I died, I won’t look on in horror

* * *

I’m dying, but how lucky I am that you are here
You’ll call out for help, and no help will appear
My head won’t be cut, nor will my head be raised on a spear
I may give away Qassim but you’ll give away Asghar

* * *

(London – 07/11/16)

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