When will my father return.. I yearn… for his warm embrace
The loving sight of Hussain… is gone… nothing takes his place
I’d give anything… he was everything
* * *
Is this what this world does to us? A child of a few years with scars on her head
I am no older than four years… and yet my back is bent like I’m one-hundred
And my small hand it frightens me… when once placed in his, I’d see his hand instead
As if he hid the world from me… when he left he took with him my small eyelids
And now all that I can see.. is me… in a world too big
No fathers hand to hold on.. it’s gone… with my aunt Zainab
Princess with no king… he was everything
* * *
I count the days, they become months… and I’ve only learnt to count a few numbers
I count one God and one father… only one Hussain and one son of Zahra
If he knew that it would kill him… to see me reminding him of his mother
Then surely he’ll come back alive… what could kill him more than from me being far?
What if his travels are long… I long… to ease his journey
If he has gotten thirsty.. surely… he’d rely on me
Water I would bring… he was everything
* * *
When I wake there is no pure scent… that once smelt sweet, like the dew of the morning
When I sleep there is no comfort… not knowing what dark night’s sorrow shall bring
Father I am only four foot… the stars too distant, to them I cannot cling
But they aren’t further than you are… how I wish that you, not them, I was seeing
How I wish the skies would fall.. and all… for nothing matters
Except your blessed return… I yearn… for skies to shatter
I am awaiting… he was everything
* * *
What am I but a mere toddler… while the weight of this grief is like a mountain
No Abbas to lift it from me… no Qassim, no Ali Akbar, no Hussain
It’s as if the planet has left me… and alone among the stars here I remain
No sun, no moon and no brothers… not even death to soothe your young daughters pain
And I hear Ummul Baneen… wishing… that she had more sons
Much like her O’ my father… I swear… my master is one
His heart I’m yearning… he was everything
* * *
I stand waiting until my knees… become weak and then I collapse to the floor
How oppressive is this absence… it’s as if a tyrant has burst through my door
When I fall, I fall on my rib… no father to bring me back up anymore
The brother of Mohsin absent… but distant, I still feel my fathers tears pour
Farewell O’ son of Zahra… Haidar… still walks beside you
While Fatima is with me… and we… shall await the few
The few returning… he was everything
* * *
(Dearborn – 07/09/22)