King of Khorasan

Peace be upon you Ali Ibn Musa… for no peace is left in these pieces of me
Peace be upon the ‘be’ buried in Mashhad… the ‘be’ of Allah’s words “be and it shall be”
Peace be upon that golden dome which sits… up on the throne of God upon the galaxy
Peace be upon you Ali, for Ali is you… and visiting you is like visiting Ali

I came to your shrine because I am without love… I stand at your gate, the refuge of the lonely
Is it the gate of your shrine, or the gate of dreams… is it Ali the gate to Muhammad’s city?
It’s as if Ali is you, yet you are Ali… this can’t be Khaybar’s gate, it’s lifted already
There’s a Khaybar in my heart, Ali uplift me… there’s a Marhab deep within, your fierce enemy

There’s a tapestry of defiance on these walls… are you not Ali, for I see Ali clearly
It’s as if I see the son of Musa battle… against Amr Ibn Widd Al-Amiri
Defiant, your shrine against every tyrant… truly you’re the roots of Ali’s family tree
I prostrate at your door, Quran within my hand… here I am holding onto the two things weighty

I step inside and board the ship of salvation… upon oceans of hearts it sails proudly
It’s strange that you’re estranged and you’re called a stranger… you’re ship outweighs its ocean ever so strangely
You can’t be a stranger, look at your kingdom… it stretches further than the eye can even see
I see this and laugh, remembering Ma’moon… you’re enemies are a drop, yet you are a sea

I see the grave of you and before it stands I…. my eye renames itself from “I” so cowardly
Who am I, what am I, before the you of you… the King of Khorasan so divine and mighty
And yet here I am, full of sin, devoid of life… you make the dead alive like Christ of Christianity
Make me alive Master, make me pure once again… for you are the one free of any impurity

I came here seeking love for they say love is you… and that you cure a heart stricken with poverty
I’m poor for my heart is barren from all riches… all I have is Al-Ridha and his family
O’ King who conquered what was to him a strange land… who wields his suspect of generosity
I see your hand extend from that mighty grave… who am I to think that I’d leave with hands empty

For this is Al-Ridha, the King of Khorasan… the world sinks around him in its humility
The shooting stars implore him when they have a need… he’s the door to the House of God’s divinity
Love – he is love, above love that men proclaim… he broke the chains of death, though buried he is free
Peace be upon the peace that encircles your shrine… and upon that content heart that leaves peacefully

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(London – 04/08/15)

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