O’ Baqir… I have long awaited
O’ Baqir… to with you be greeted
As foretold by Mustafa… O’ Baqir I am Jaber
* * *
O’ fifth shining light that decorates a whole household of gold
Know that I’m Jaber and for how long have I served your household
By your grandfather Mohammed O’ Baqir I was foretold
That I’d meet his descendant though I may grow both blind and old
He told me… that you would have his name
He told me… that you both walked the same
Though I be blind and older… O’ Baqir I am Jaber
* * *
Know that every day I’d leave my house and sit at this roadside
And without sight hear the footsteps that passed the house I reside
Until I heard the footsteps of Mohammed, there I’d abide
Waiting as age ate me away like land eaten by the tide
Just waiting… for my blindness to see
Just waiting… for the son of Ali
Waiting as time grew greater… O’ Baqir I am Jaber
* * *
I sat there on that roadside recalling, and what I’d recall!
Men recite your tragedies, but O’ Baqir I’ve seen them all
I saw Ali as a poisoned sword upon his head would fall
I saw your mother as her womb was crushed between door and wall
Men have heard… but Baqir I have seen
Men have heard… but through it all I’ve been
And it haunts me forever… O’ Baqir I am Jaber
* * *
They assume that I was tortured by age and thus became blind
My eyes wherever they would gaze, unbearable sights they’d find
Like when they saw Hassan alone, against him all of mankind
With him I stood and I asked my eyes to help, but they declined
O’ old man… my eyes to me narrate
O’ old man… we’ve seen torture and hate
Cries did not soothe them either… O’ Baqir I am Jaber
* * *
And do I dare recall the land with pure bodies once ridden
Baqir whose eyes upon them has been left a greater burden?
And your father painted in my eyes what to all stayed hidden
He’d show me where each men fell and bled, where the rocks would sadden
O’ Jaber… this is where Akbar fell
O’ Jaber… Hussain’s plight I’ll retell
Abbas lies by the river… O’ Baqir I am Jaber
* * *
My sight left me but on that day tortured me that which I heard
The sound of thirst and mourning left my body old and withered
Without my sight, I felt the dust and this tragedy pictured
The choice of Hussain or Abbas left what’s left of me tortured
I stood there… looking both left and right
I stood there… longing for my old sight
I stood a blind visitor… O’ Baqir I am Jaber
* * *
An old man I embrace you O’ master, son of my masters
And see you using my hands, remembering Mohammed’s features
Yet when I touch your head, Ali’s anguish my mind remembers
When I touch your ribs, your mother and your Hussain it pictures
And I weep… tears to a sightless eye
And I weep… and we weep you and I
Foretold by your grandfather… O’ Baqir I am Jaber
* * *
(London – 11/09/12)