She is given… Fatima Zahra
Abbas’ hands… and fallen banner
O’ world but one question… what was his wrong or sin
Why the thirsty children… and fallen banner?
* * *
On the day when men are judged and they all gather
They are told lower your gaze, as passes Zahra
Yet the mistress of worlds demands but an answer
And raised toward her is a heart-breaking picture
A lone body beheaded and his hands severed
And beside him, fallen, the flag of his Master
And in his eye… laced is the arrow
So if he cried… only blood would flow
The leader of women… cries out anguish and pain
Why the thirsty children… and fallen banner?
* * *
With this picture comes the screams and cries of orphans
Every scream cries out O’ my uncle please return
Only the howl of the wind answers these children
Their hearts yearn from him more than the water they yearn
And who’ll protect them when on fire the tents burn
As he lies on dust by the horses’ hooves ridden
And this fire… it shows no mercy
Through tent and flesh… it eats so hungry
Where is their protection… what pain was envisioned
Why the thirsty children… and fallen banner?
* * *
Beside his body with severed limbs she kneels
And with her hands the cuts upon his head she feels
And within him a heart that no soul can heal
Beneath shattered ribs still it hears children’s wails
Indeed with the river Abbas made a deal
An exchange, water for his soul, it was sealed
And yet this soul… lies without content
Until water… he brings to the tents
To him is uncertain… the fate of the orphans…
Why the thirsty children… and fallen banner?
* * *
She screams and in her hands Abbas’ hands she holds
A scream of death that shakes foundations of the worlds
Tell me world why of this slaughter I was not told
And now in my eyes I see these events unfold
I see a thunder of arrows at him is hurled
Till his own shed blood becomes his final abode
And both his hands… severed by a blade
And through arrows… still he tried to wade
Yet his pain was woken… when his eye was taken
Why the thirsty children… and fallen banner?
* * *
When they are left with no guide and no protector
Hussain’s daughters run as chases them the fire
Indeed my own tragedy my grief remembers
When the door crushed me and I cried out ‘O’ Fitha’
My door burned, Muhsin fell, and my own ribs shattered
Yet running between the horses Hussain’s daughters
And upon me… enemies trampled
Yet these orphans… by horses trampled
And what an oppression… when they are but children
Why the thirsty children… and fallen banner?
* * *
(London – 16/11/10)