Two roads presented to him, which will he lead?
His death or his wedding his mother will read
* * *
Two roads sit presented before this youth
Yet both contain honour and both with truth
Confused is his young heart, which will he choose?
Will his bride gain him or will he soul she lose?
And to his young eyes which is the greater deed?
His death or his wedding his mother will read
* * *
He comes to his mother, face bright like the moon
Dressed in the armour of death is this young groom
“O’ mother two fates upon your young son loom
Do I dress for my wedding or for my tomb?
The disease of confusion in my heart breeds”
His death or his wedding his mother will read
* * *
Mother on one path I see scattered bodies
The other, on my wedding, I see roses
Yet how can I smile with these tragedies?
O’ mother answer, extinguish my worries
How can I not fight, I don’t bow down to greed
His death or his wedding his mother will read
* * *
His mother says O’ memory of Hassan
You’re not a child but a leader of men
With all your tears as ink and your blood your pen
Write down your fate and decide it where and when
From your mother one way today you’ll be freed
His death or his wedding his mother will read
* * *
Child your father had always intended
For you toward Hussein’s daughter to be wed
This bride for your presence has long awaited
Her young heart longs to be held within your hand
And your father Hassan had planted this seed
His death or his wedding his mother will read
* * *
O’ mother know my eyes cannot bare the sight
Watching Hussain as within thirst he abides
As every soldier has fought and so has died
O’ mother, please by my father let me fight
This is not a desire it is a need
His death or his wedding his mother will read
* * *
So the world sees the wedding march of Qasim
As his young bride in tears walks alongside him
Where she to sleep and tomorrow awaken
She’d find her husband by the arrows taken
Two roads, and to both this warrior takes heed
His death or his wedding his mother will read
* * *
He rides out to fight them with his father’s sword
And kills men, this young lion, all for his Lord
But soon they jump on him like a pack of wolves
Not tears of joy but rivers of his blood poured
And upon his young body the arrows feed
His death or his wedding his mother will read
* * *
O’ son look at your bride as she stands alone
And in tears she awaits her husband’s return
O’ Qassim when our tents upon fire burn
For you she will call out and for you she’ll yearn
O’ light of my eyes which path now will she lead?
His death or his wedding his mother will read
* * *
(London – 05/10/10)