Hussain hears the strike, the strike of thunder
His son struck just like his father Haider
* * *
No son… Means no father
* * *
I saw Hussain by his tent almost collapse
Choking from his tears, seeping through his teeth’s gaps
As if his heart exploded, or soul perhaps
Hearing his son cry, farewell O’ my father
* * *
He cried, where are you my son, with his voice hoarse
Ali Akbar’s blood flowed and blinded his horse
It ran to them, and their swords with no remorse
Broke apart the mirror of his great grandfather
* * *
Hussain rode like a bird to its nests rescue
The angel of death toward its prey flew
Akbar’s scent no more – O’ son how I miss you
The eldest sat by Ali the elder
* * *
Cleaning Ali’s wounds, his tears rained a monsoon
A sight that turned to tears the harshest sand dune
I saw the sun cradling a shattered moon
The moon’s soul left, burnt by the sun’s despair
* * *
Each tear that fell on Akbar’s blood caused ripples
From grief Earth forgot that the sun it circles
And here a father with his own soul grapples
Trying to not let it leave Karbala
* * *
No father can bear the loss of his own son
When your head was struck I felt cripple the sun
When your soul left, my son, I felt mine had gone
And my lifeless body could move no further
* * *
Hussain takes him to his tent, his last abode
His mother sees him walk and taunts her the road
From wails the pupils in her eyes explode
What mother buries her son, what mother
* * *
Are you not Ali, are you not Muhammad
I see a youth drowned in the blood that he’s bled
To the edge of death O’ my beloved I’m led
Because I’ll see you again thereafter
* * *
O’ first son, named after he not fourth but first
My tongue strangles my throat knowing of your thirst
I wish the veins of my eyes from tears would burst
So that I can feed your dead tongue water
* * *
(Detroit – 16/09/15)