Rejoice the fallen of Badr… all struck by the sword of Haider
Killed is the infallible soldier… killed is the infallible soldier
* * *
He who once wielded such a sword… that had shook the sands of Badr
Wears on his head a fatal wound… that cries ‘I have conquered Haider’
And the dead that he killed rejoice… as his sword weeps for its leader
And his last prayer, it proudly states… never falter would my reader
Truly found was his one true fear… the Lord on whom Ali would peer
Ali struck on his last frontier… Ali struck on his last frontier
* * *
Is it envy that shakes the dead?… when they gaze back toward Uhud
When all men threw their arms and ran… Ali by the Prophet he stood
When young, courage was nursed to him… fear of the Lord from childhood
Children played games, but Ali played… games tearing falsehood from good
Those he killed long for his stature… where goodness is in your nature
Where palaces are your future… where palaces are your future
* * *
The dead long to cradle the badge… of lifting the gate of Khaybar
Yet only one defied known law… and walked out hero of the war
The jealous eye it followed him… in all deeds it stared from afar
And left him drenched in his own blood… upon his head written death’s scar
This poisoned sword it had no shame… Jews of Khaybar shook at his name
Know this lion no sword could tame… know this lion no sword could tame
* * *
Is it truly more than envy? Look at the battle of Jamal
He’s justice embodied on Earth… and how many were disloyal?
Like men want to take down the sun… and conquer with instincts primal
A mother that kills her own sons… waved her hand in disapproval
He knows Islam like no other… told to catch her, her own brother
Feared God even with his loather… feared God even with his loather
* * *
O’ Ali patience is your crown… and as we saw it at Sofeen
It sits with thorns thrashing your head… like your wings to the eye unseen
Yet O’ Ali the moon watches… and as tiring as this patience has been
A head drenched in royal blood… struck by a sword it has foreseen
This moon wails such a grievance… can it gaze on Ali’s absence?
And hear not your words, but silence… and hear not your words but silence
* * *
Now O’ hero of Nahrawaan… an orphan’s eye upon you weeps
And from the wound upon your head… the shade of death upon you creeps
The dead’s vengeance does not forget… and the thought by its chest it keeps
And your passed eye shall shed a tear… when on Hussain’s neck its blade sleeps
Whilst tonight this sword chose your turn… this hatred shall forever burn
Your children a dying lantern… your children a dying lantern
* * *
(London – 17/08/11)