This is the coffin brought… Shrouded in veil
Only silent mourning… Within death’s wail
And dust calls for the mother of tragedy
Buried with memories of calamity
* * *
The female saints of Heaven today descend
Bringing down with them the night’s shroud as to tend
To the body of the lion’s own daughter
And wrap her within this shroud to time transcend
As the lady of light, now doused in sorrow
Must be wrapped in the night, to this sorrow mend
When she sleeps in this grave, light it shall its stars
When she rises from death, greet her shall its moon, shall its moon
* * *
Beneath that which shrouds her, sleeps a darkened eye
Flooded with all the tears that this queen would cry
Imprinted upon it countless tragedies
She bared the weight of goodbye after goodbye
So many left her that when death called on her
“Pull my soul from my body”, she would reply
When she called for Hussain, stole him did the swords
When death called upon her, she begged its embrace, its embrace
* * *
The female saints of Heaven weld her a crown
As they lower her body deep in the ground
One made of the thorns of her screams and her cries
The halo of her patience circles around
Every smile shadowed by aches of her heart
And at every injustice her honour frowned
In the court of tyrants, she weld Haider’s sword
At the test of patience, Zainab thanked her Lord, thanked her Lord
* * *
Here sleeps the daughter of valour’s own bloodline
The words that shook tyrants her body enshrine
A symbol of patience to those in hardship
That in tragedy true believers they shine
As the red dawn rises, the day of her death
Her virtues and morals dance on its skyline
He who learns from Zainab, on comfort he sleeps
Whilst this mother of grief, buried here she weeps, here she weeps
* * *
(London – 20/06/11)