My beloved… my beloved…
O my child… my beloved
* * *
What is this blood I hold… as my Angel wings fold
My son Akbar is dying as I hold him in my hands
Those small hands I once held… when my child was small
Now drip with blood and its flowing upon Karbala’s sand
My son departed for the battle
He left and took with him my soul
Each step he took raptured by being
Must I witness my beloved fall?
* * *
How can I see my son… as his horse marches on
Leave his mother’s tent and head toward death, battle and swords
Where has my beloved gone?… the hour becomes long
I hear him crying out his name and the name of his Lord
Why does the desert now smell of his blood?
As the enemy cheer the loss of my son
Where is the scent of my skin and my beloved?
Still thirsty beneath the desert sun
Has my son met his death?
Has he breathed his last breath?
For the fatherless one how great is the divine reward?
* * *
I’ll embrace whatever is written
Even if my son meets his end
Just know the sorrow of the father
With it the Heavens must contend
I see his horse come back… with my son on his back
His back ridden with wounds and his body now left prostrate
The spear lodged in his chest… leaves my soul in unrest
Witness O’ father Ali, you who once raised Khaybars gate
My beloved lies with a spear deep in his chest
And I place my bloodied hands on it’s wood
If I could pierce it into my own
To save my sons blessed life then I would
After my son has died… every inch of me cries
For the fatherless one every inch of his being aches
* * *
(Los Angeles – 22/07/22)