The fire draws me pictures… the fire draws me pictures
* * *
Standing in the burning tents… I watch as the ashes fall
They turn into memories… and then towards me they crawl
They show me things that hurt sight… things I don’t want to recall
A sword striking a father… a rib crushed against a wall
The fire draws me pictures
* * *
I cry with smoke in my lungs… grandfather O’ Muhammad
By the sword of Saqeefa… your grandson’s blood has been shed
Just like Hunayn and Uhud… your funeral they all fled
But there’s no funeral here… Hussain’s chest is crushed instead
The fire draws me pictures
* * *
I watch the fire and smoke… sweep Hussain’s tents off the sands
The only hands to help me… are Abbas’s severed hands
By fire my veil burnt… and my mother understands
Holding a rib that’s broken… beside me Fatima stands
The fire draws me pictures
* * *
For whom do Layla’s tears flow… that can’t be Ali Akbar
That fallen body looks like… Muhammad my grandfather
Layla, I know you’re confused… when I saw his head shatter
And it was struck, my eyes saw… the head of Ali Haider
The fire draws me pictures
* * *
Fire surrounds you Farwa… but you look at a candle
A flame extinguished early… so young and so beautiful
When I saw your Qassim struck… I saw his father smile
When his body they would drag… Qassim Hassan would cuddle
The fire draws me pictures
* * *
I witness Ummul Kulthoom… come closer towards my side
When we witness our brother… a sight that makes the sun hide
Is that really his body… what’s outside and what’s inside?
How much it hurts these sisters… to see his massacred pride
The fire draws me pictures
* * *
What a life that I have lived… that in the fire flickers
Through words of Nouri Sardar… voice of Rehmani sisters
But the fire cannot draw… the horror of all horrors
When my beloved Hussain… the sword of Shimr slaughters
The fire draws me pictures
* * *
(London – 19/05/15)