Could it be the end of times? … Look at the crimes… against her
They have their eyes on her shrine… and her bloodline… defend her
A message we’ve given… we are Zainab’s children
* * *
I arose in painting a rose, Ali’s daughter
I wanted to paint a picture, and I picked her
For this there was none worthier, and none worth her
But not as we stand with her, I watch her wither
This is who if men discuss her, it disgusts her
A sister of the moon asks, who will assist her?
I have painted a picture… and I brushed her… with sadness
The mother of tragedy… so silently… in distress
On this canvas, written… we are Zainab’s children
* * *
She saw they were coming for her and for her throne
The princess of calamity from her throne, thrown
I heard the screaming of this rose, she’s all alone
And her screaming sounded like the crushing of bone
If they dug up her grave and they reached her tombstone
For the sin that shakes the heavens can they atone?
If they take out her body… and take, proudly… her captive
What excuse to her father… and her brother… can we give?
Can we let it happen… we are Zainab’s children
* * *
I felt as if I stood at the edge of time’s end
And standing here, I saw upon Zainab a trend
I felt that with a tyrant she had to contend
And that a captive to Kufa, Zainab they’d send
Only now there’d be not a soul to, her wounds, mend
With her between their hands who will, to her wounds, tend?
If her body is taken… she’ll awaken… between them
For us she will be searching… and complaining… against them
In her eyes, her vision… we are Zainab’s children
* * *
Oppression wanted a grave and Zainab’s they find
The stand against oppression, alone, she defined
The beauty of her dome makes them, with anger, blind
God bless the hand that, her golden palace, designed
Her shrine it bends the scales against all mankind
Man is man, but Zainab, she is one of a kind
Her shrine, it is a beacon… nations listen… to her voice
In the eye, her dome glistens… the heart weakens… without choice
An easy decision… we are Zainab’s children
* * *
A call came that froze the blood deep within our veins
We will not rest till not a single grave remains
Is it the devil that’s holding Syria’s reigns?
Is it Zainab captive, or her father in chains?
They destroyed Hijr’s grave and wanted his remains
How long before their eyes will turn upon Hussain’s?
No we will not allow them… we’re the children… of zeal
The devil’s hand will never… her shrine, enter… and feel
As dark shadows widen… we are Zainab’s children
* * *
I saw, high on her dome, her brother’s banner flies
Even after her death, her flowing tears, he dries
The name of Zainab on their forehead, each man ties
This pride we’ve marked upon our heads, it never dies
Know that by the grave of Zainab, our pride, it lies
It will manifest into Mehdi if she cries
God forbid, if she topples… evil grapples… with Mehdi
Just as the sun is rising… his uprising… eyes will see
He knows if he’d return… we are Zainab’s children
* * *
(London – 21/05/13)