Author: Rubab

The Lovers of Ali: A Poetic Love Letter to the Shi’a

~ Rubab ~ Leave a comment

At the start of human history, when Adam left the garden

As he repented to his Lord and sought His deepest pardon

God advised to seek His mercy through the blessing of five names:

Muhammad, Ali, Fatima, Hasan and Hussain.

Wilayah was established as man’s bridge to the Divine

but its role would be forgotten amid the tides of humankind.

As Prophethood concluded, and Imamah took the helm

Corruption and misguidance overtook the human realm

Some people followed power, and some were led by greed

But the ones who yearned for Truth became the lovers of Ali.

They were labeled the rejectors, for denying manmade power

But were staunch in their belief that Allah is sole Endower

of all authority and truth, as embodied in His wali

They could not deny the knowledge that this embodiment was Ali.

Now human consciousness is waning, and the truth is hard to find

as humanity is governed by those who deify the mind

The world is full of chaos, and is darkened by misdeeds

and this darkness makes it difficult for humanity to see

but the pathway back to fitrah, to the light of true Tawhid

can still be found within the hearts of those who keep alive this creed

The light can still be found by those who have the eyes to see;

the light can still be found within the lovers of Ali.

For Truth retains its rightful place within Amirul Mu’mineen

And the flame of Haqq is kindled by the lovers of Ali.

Some call them the Rawafidh, some call them the insane-

The world has not yet understood the many secrets they contain.

Their hearts are written in a language that the world has never spoken

Mankind is dowsed in slumber, but their spirits have awoken.

If you wish to find his lovers, you can know them by their deeds

And the depth of their surrender to God’s rulings and decrees

And the way their spirits soften, when they come across a soul in need

such is the ethos and compassion, of the lovers of Ali.

And the heart of every lover, is like the lonely desert well

Where Ali poured out his secrets, when he had no one left to tell

There is no cure for the love that ails them, for the wound of separation

The only thought that brings them bliss is the remembered destination.

Their hearts are full of sorrow, yet their faces show no grief

For the lovers of Ali, his very name is their relief

This world is not a goal for them, it is just a resting place;

Their souls ache to find a home within God’s eternal face.

They mark themselves as different, by their purity of heart

In a world that worships darkness, they turn goodness into art.

You may not recognize them, the world may never know their names

for the lovers of Ali have little use for praise or fame.

Know them by their love of God, by their soft humility-

Know them by the beauty they embody when they speak

The way their heavy hearts grow restless at the pain of humankind,

The way their souls are tranquil oceans aflood with the Divine.

And if you wish to taste the rivers, that are found in Paradise

Sate your thirst with a single glance, in a lover’s gentle eyes.

The world sets its greatest riches, at their tired, aching feet

But the lovers look away, for it isn’t wealth they seek.

In their adherence to the guidance, and pursuit of Allah’s pleasure

They themselves exceed the worth of all the world’s material treasure.

For the lovers understand, the only wealth that satisfies

Is the love of Aal Muhammad, whom God has purified.

And there can be no other rope, that perfects a lover’s faith

But the rope of perfect union, between Qur’an and Ahlulbayt.

So the culmination of the dream, of Adam’s progeny

Still lies upon the threshold, of the lovers of Ali.

x Rubab Zaidi

The Unseen Weeper

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In a majlis full of souls that ponder, weep, and grieve
There is a man who sits among us, who the people seldom see
His heart encompasses the pain of the whole of humankind
His soul a finite mirror of the love of the Divine
He is acquainted with the secrets within the heart of every being
He makes dua for every lover, for our guidance and well-being
And every time our hearts grow heavy with the burden of our sins
He experiences that heaviness, as if it belongs to him

In this age of dhulumaat, where darkness reigns supreme
mankind is dazed in slumber, as if caught within a dream
and the heart of every lover has grown restless in its cage
as it seeks a sanctuary in this catastrophic age
Where genocide goes unpunished, and colonizers get ovations
For the rates at which they bomb children dying of starvation.

Tonight, we offer our condolences to the Master of our time
The one whose justice we await to shift the broken paradigm
Of this wounded, dying world, built on capital exploitation
Enriched by the dying embers of systematic deprivation

Please illuminate the way, beloved Master of our time
In this world that stands submerged beneath the gravity of crimes
Too numerous to mention, too horrific to recount
With enemies too powerful for the weak ones to surmount

No longer can we bear the sight of children set aflame
No longer can we tolerate their agony and pain
For in the faces of the children that flee the burning tents of Rafah
We see the shadow of a girl who fled a tent in Karbala
As her clothing caught on fire, and her tender cheeks were bruised
By the shameless slaps of tyrants and their merciless abuse.

The revolution of Hussain lives on within our rage
As we vow to rise against the Yazid of every age
Ya Muntaqim, ya Qaim, as we weep for Ababdillah
Deepen our wilayah, and our submission- o Allah!
Grant us the taufeeq to bear witness to his reign
Grant us the taufeeq to join the avenger of Hussain

May our salaams be unto you, ya Baqiyat al Anbiya
May our salaams be unto you, Master of the awliya
Please grant us your ziyarah, with our hearts and with our eyes
Please grant us your wilayah, in every era of our lives
And on the day when hearts are weeping, for the fear of Allah’s wrath
O beloved of Zahra, keep us firm upon your path
O Hujjah of our time, may our hearts belong to you
Please forgive our sinful souls, as we make our way to you.

A Reflection on Dua Arafah and the Immaculate Tawhid of Imam Hussain (as)

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When I sit down to write about my favorite muses, poets, artists, and thinkers, my ink flows freely, but when I write the name ‘Hussain’, my pen falters and all language feels insufficient. In Dua Arafah, Imam Hussain (as) asks God how he could ever repay Him for the infinite blessings He has given him, but the heart of the lover asks God: how could we ever thank You for giving us Hussain?

As I listen to Dua Arafah each year, I am struck by a painful realization: each of the body parts Imam Hussain swears by in this dua were trampled and destroyed beyond recognition on the day of Ashura. It is as if he swore his unconditional submission to God on the day of Arafah, then sealed that oath on the 10th of Muharram by sacrificing every inch of himself in absolute totality. Has anyone ever fulfilled a oath so thoroughly? Has any expression of love for the Beloved ever resonated so powerfully? Not only did Imam Hussain safeguard the path of tawhid with his blood and the blood of his children, he gave us an immortal blueprint by which to navigate that path, no matter how far or how often we stray.

The depth of the tawhid expressed in this dua fills me with shame and absolute awe. I find it hard to listen to without pausing to allow certain lines to sink in and weave their way into the fabric of my flawed heart. My mind tries to imagine these words uttered by the same tongue that recited Surah Kahf from atop a spear; the thought leaves me breathless. As Imam Hussain thanks God for the cartilage of his ribs, I think of the moment on Ashura when his ribs were audibly crushed beneath the hooves of the enemy’s horses. As he thanks God for the cord of his aorta and the lines on his forehead, I think of the lines in Ziyarat Nahiya when the 12th Imam (atf) sends his greetings upon the one whose aorta was severed; the one whose forehead bore the sweat of death as he fell to the ground, covered in wounds, casting a final glance toward the tents of his beloved family.

The gratitude professed by Imam Hussain in Dua Arafah is not a detached, ritualistic gratitude; it is a gratitude encased in all-encompassing submission, reflecting a depth of God-consciousness in which the Imam unequivocally lays bare his absolute nothingness before God’s absolute greatness. As he conveys his thanks for every physical and existential blessing, it is as if Imam Hussain is saying, “each of these blessings came from You, everything that I am belongs to You, and when it pleases You most, I will gladly sacrifice every trace of this self solely for Your pleasure.” The martyrdom of Imam Hussain on Ashura is a culmination of the secret he shared in Dua Arafah; the climax of the totality of submission in which the lover sees only the Beloved and completely ceases to see himself.

The humility and God-consciousness expressed in this dua reimmerses me in the gravity of who Imam Hussain was: the beloved grandson of the Holy Prophet (pbuh), the child of Ali (as) and Fatima (as), the prince of the youth of Paradise, the one whose cradle became a means of healing for the angels, the one whose grave remains a place of healing and renewal for his lovers, one of the sanctified Ahl al Kisa for whom the universe was created, the lamp of eternal guidance, and the one who exemplified tawhid in a manner that shattered the throne of falsehood forever. Over a thousand years later, Imam Hussain (as) remains one of the rarest secrets from among the secrets of God. Our understanding of him is like an unfinished conversation that the soul becomes awash in year after year.

x r

A Few of My Deeply-held Beliefs

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I believe in worship that runs so deep, it bathes everything in the warm, healing glow of love.  I believe in the interconnectedness of all things, the innate worthiness of all souls, the innate beauty of sacred sentiments, and the unparalleled majesty of visible miracles such as sunrises and starry nights.  I believe that gratitude is akin to prayer and that the expression of joy is a holy sacrament.  I believe that a focused moment of true understanding and compassion is enough to win the heart of God, but that His decrees exist to give every human soul a grounded, necessary methodology by which to evolve, become, & know itself- and gradually, to know Him.  I believe in the pursuit of inner magnificence and the holiness of empathy; that the heart reaches its highest point of actualization when it learns to seek beauty in everything it beholds; that love is the name we give to anything that conveys us to the Divine.

I believe that humility is the purest pathway to God’s presence, that every soul we encounter has something vital to teach us, that no one is irredeemable except the soul too arrogant to be taught. I believe that a sincere moment of kindness can surpass the resonance of a year of worship, that one of the most critical achievements is to master the balance of disciplining one’s own soul while offering grace to others. I believe that reacquiring the ability to be delighted by the trivial and mundane is the highest human art. I believe that the soul only tastes true peace when it surrenders to the One who created it; that anything can be endured by a heart that has been moved by His nearness, that there is nothing more exquisitely beautiful than a loving gaze that echoes His mercy.

x r

Moments of Transcendence: A Lover’s Reflections on Ziyarat-e Ashura

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On the eve of the 10th of Muharram, i sit for a while to listen to Ziyarat-e Ashura, and i suddenly feel like i’m experiencing it for the very first time in my existence. It’s as if every word has come alive and is sprouting within my heart; every expression of love and every expression of dissimulation suddenly feels like a living entity. The intense duality of these contrasting sentiments shakes my soul awake, surging through my veins with an electric fervor. I am still vaguely aware of my body and its relationship with the material plane, but my consciousness feels diffused into an understanding far deeper and far greater than its own feeble parameters. For a few moments, i feel as if i’m experiencing this ziyarah through the consciousness of a heart beyond my own. I don’t dare name the owner of this heart or this greater consciousness, but his wilayah reigns over my being with such force in these moments that i feel momentarily lost within him, like a tiny rivulet of water consumed by a purified river.

As the ziyarah continues, i feel an unnameable ecstasy at the unfamiliarity of the wavelength that has suddenly pulled my soul into its orbit, coupled with an awed sense of grief at the enormity of Imam Hussain- his suffering and his beauty, his grace and his immeasurable glory. This awe then shifts into an ever-deepening awe at the Creator of Imam Hussain, and for a few moments, my heart feels traces of the ancient awe my forefather Adam (as) must have felt when he spoke the names of the Ahlul Kisa (as) and sought Divine mercy through them. As i recite the lines of tawassul contained within this ziyarah, i feel as if i’m treading in Adam’s footsteps, seeking the love of my Creator through the love of the beings He most loves.

As my heart circles around the precipice of love for the King of Martyrs, i understand why i’m experiencing this ziyarah through a heart beyond my own. My own heart- endlessly mired in multiplicity, distraction, ignorance, and sin- could never handle this depth of understanding if left to its own devices; my consciousness would implode if it spent more than a moment trying to reflect on the greatness of my Imam. This borrowed awareness is only mine for a few moments, but it strikes me that this must be the daily, recurring experience of the many great scholars who revisit this ziyarah every day and night, habitually renewing their hearts by the light of each line. In these moments, i come to understand it not merely as a time-honored tradition, but as a timeless encapsulation of Tawhid that contains endless layers both visible and hidden. It also reminds me that true faith is a synthesis of both love and hate; that the vanquishing of batil is as sacred as the upholding of haqq- and this is one of the central tenets of Imam Hussain’s final stand in Karbala. 

It has been said that Sayyid Ali Qadhi once appeared in Agha Bahjat’s dream and informed him that if he could make sure to do one thing in his life, he would recite Ziyarat e Ashura twice on a daily basis. The first time i heard this story, i was perplexed. We’ve been blessed with no shortage of exquisite duas and ziyaraat; what sets this particular supplication above the rest in the eyes of our greatest scholars? As i ponder this question now, minute traces of understanding begin to enter my heart. The sacrifices Imam Hussain made on the day of Ashura fourteen hundred years ago were essential for the preservation of Tawhid until the end of time. Were it not for him, all of humankind would have been deprived of the opportunity to know God as He wishes to be known- through the pure, unadulterated truth of His religion. So in a manner of speaking, the preservation of every act of ibadah- including all other supplications, ziyaraat, etc- can be linked back to Ashura and its aftermath. Were it not for Imam Hussain and his blessed family and companions, Islam as we know it would have been fundamentally altered beyond recognition, and worship in all its forms would’ve been irreparably corrupted, rendering Truth inaccessible.

Every time i stop to ponder the meaning of each line, chills run down my spine. Can i genuinely claim to mean any of what i’m saying? Do my actions reflect a commitment to the things i’m asking for, or do they make me a partisan of the very men i’m cursing? Am i at war with Hussain’s enemies, or am i at war with the principles he gave his life for? This consideration makes me waver for a few moments, and a flicker of doubt within my heart insists that this ziyarah is beyond the grasp of an imperfect soul like mine. Yet every time i speak the name Hussain, hopelessness becomes an impossibility. Hussain was the one who liberated the likes of Hur (as), the one who continued to invite his enemies toward redemption until his final moments despite the manifold cruelties they inflicted. Hussain was the one who repeatedly offered Paradise to the ones who broke his heart, who sought to guide even the ones who massacred his loved ones and wounded him beyond recognition. Hussain was and is the finite gateway to the infinitude of Divine mercy, a mortal conduit that reunites a seeker’s sinful heart with the Divine love it most deeply craves.

As the ziyarah ends, i marvel at the paradox of Imam Hussain’s wujud; no one in history has experienced a tragedy like his, yet the utterance of his name fills my heart with an immediate sense of tranquility and bliss. I find this strange, and yet it makes perfect sense; the Nafsul Mutmainna doesn’t just encompass itminaan within himself, he radiates it to every soul imbued with his love. This is why every worldly grief, concern, and pain leaves us the moment we sit in a gathering commemorating him, and why even the most lost souls find such profound solace in his aza- the heart forgets everything the moment it remembers Hussain.

x r

Author’s note: if this piece of writing moves you to recite Ziyarat e Ashura, please send some of the blessings to the soul of my beloved brother, Ammar Zaidi, and as a gift to the Imam of our time- may he be pleased with us ❤

The Audacity of Zakariya: A Reflection on Human Vulnerability & the Art of Dua

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بِسْمِ ٱللَّٰهِ ٱلرَّحْمَٰنِ ٱلرَّحِيمِ

While engaging in a bit of Qur’anic reflection some time ago, I was struck by the unique tenderness of a story that melts my heart and deepens my affection for Allah (swt) every time I think about it. This story finds us at the beginning of Surah Maryam- it’s the tale of Prophet Zakariya (as) and the miraculous birth of Yahya (as). When I was younger, I would often rush past this part of Surah Maryam without much reflection, but I recently found myself awash in awe when I realized how profoundly full of love, tenderness, and patience the dialogue between Prophet Zakariya (as) and God is.

In the fourth verse of Surah Maryam, Zakariya (as) begins with a humbly expressed dua to God, in which he asks God to grant him a child despite his old age. The first line Zakariya utters in his dua is immediately disarming in its humility: he speaks of the brittleness of his bones and the whiteness of his hair- an impassioned expression of vulnerability that brings to mind one of the most beautiful lines in Dua Kumayl. Many of the duas of our Prophets and Imams (as) contain similar admissions of physical weakness and vulnerability, and these lines are always strikingly visceral in nature. In the warrior-centric cultures of antiquity, nothing was likely seen as a greater measure of a man’s value than his physical strength. For a man in such an environment to defy this standard and humble himself- while openly highlighting his physical weaknesses- is a deeply compelling, powerful gesture.

Immediately after acknowledging his physical limitations, Zakariya concludes his dua by uttering a line that I find both heart-wrenchingly beautiful and clever: “I have never been disappointed in my prayer to You” (19:4; this statement beautifully parallels a similar line uttered by Prophet Ibrahim (as) in verse 47). One can tell by the sincerity of Zakariya’s tone that this isn’t a calculated utterance, but it happens to be a brilliantly constructed statement, as if inspired by God Himself. Just as Barkh, during the time of Prophet Musa (as), suggested that it would be unbecoming of God’s greatness not to grant the Israelites water, Zakariya points out that God has always satisfied him in every dua- as if hinting that it would only make sense for God to continue meeting that high standard. A simpler reading of this statement might be that it simply speaks to the magnitude of Zakariya’s high opinion of God. When complimenting someone, praising them for a single action once is a commonplace gesture, but praising them for consistently embodying a quality (in this case, God’s responsiveness) reveals a much deeper level of intimacy, where the one doing the praising signifies that they have noticed and appreciated every instance of a virtue. The line also speaks to the depth of Zakariya’s trust in God. For Zakariya to make a seemingly impossible dua- while acknowledging God’s generosity in the very same breath- indicates that his trust in God’s generosity is literally boundless, as if he places more confidence in God’s will than in the limitations of the material world (or does he? 🤨 we’ll examine this part next.)

After Zakariya concludes his heartfelt dua, the angels respond in the affirmative, and give him the good news: his dua will be answered with the birth of a blessed son named Yahya (19:7). Now comes the part that secretly made me laugh the first time I tried to picture it: in this moment, any ordinary person in Zakariya’s shoes would’ve likely fallen to the floor in gratitude, performed two rakaat of shukr, and wept tears of joy at having their biggest dua answered, then ended the conversation there- for if God is literally confirming that your dua will be granted, what more is there to say? Instead, Zakariya’s immediate response is beautifully human: he perplexedly asks God how such a thing could happen (19:8), considering his wife’s barrenness and his old age (note: as Allamah Tabatabai points out in al Mizan, Zakariya’s words should not be read as an indication of doubt, but might better be understood as an expression of astonishment, or a desire for clarification). If you really want to fall in love with God, pause for a moment and imagine this scenario playing out amongst ordinary human beings: imagine that a beggar comes to your door, pleading for something as if his life depends on it. Imagine that you immediately respond by assuring that you’ll grant him that thing- but instead of thanking you, he poses a counter-argument about why it doesn’t seem logically plausible for you to grant his request. Many mortal beings would likely become frustrated and rethink their generosity, but here we witness God’s kindness in all its unsheathed glory- instead of scolding Zakariya, God validates his concern and responds to it graciously, assuring him that his dua will indeed be granted, as it is easy for God to grant it (19:9).

God concludes His response by gently reminding Zakariya of his smallness- pointing out that Zakariya was nothing before God created him- yet even this reminder reads like an objective statement of fact; it contains no evident hint of anger or displeasure. It’s also a beautiful instance of human logic being met with Divine logic- Zakariya’s question hints at the evident limitations posed by the laws of nature, and God responds by reminding him that the laws of nature don’t apply to His will. Given the gentleness of God’s response to Zakariya, my subjective human impression is that it almost seems as if the openly expressed surprise of Zakariya is more beloved to God than the conventional gratitude of a normal human being. I don’t have the knowledge or authority to make a definitive assertion about why this might be the case, but I can’t help but think back to the story of Barkh and Musa (as), and the way the sincerity and informality of Barkh’s manner of speaking to God was beloved to Him in a way that astonished even the lofty consciousness of Musa. In addition to their unwavering obedience of God’s laws, a common thread between both men is how intimately and vulnerably they spoke to God- without pretension, without formality or inhibition; with an almost childlike innocence that reflected the true reality of what they were genuinely thinking and feeling. This manner of rawness bespeaks absolute trust and honesty with the Beloved; it is only after the cultivation of true intimacy that a lover can let his or her guard down so absolutely.

God’s lenient reply is then followed by even more boldness on the part of Zakariya- instead of ending the conversation by thanking God for both the blessing and the reassurance, Zakariya goes one step further and asks God for a sign (19:10). And beautifully, God once again affirms his request, immediately disclosing what the sign will be. This is the part of their dialogue that I find especially mesmerizing, because Zakariya’s repetitive asking evokes such a departure from the way we are typically conditioned to approach God. We are often raised to speak to God with the utmost fear and formality, and to make requests of Him sparingly, as if we subconsciously believe that we are doing Him a disservice or are inconveniencing Him by asking Him to grant us what we want. What Zakariya understood was something many of us hesitate to accept: it is in the nature of the Most Generous Giver to love giving; His grace is eternally seeking a recipient, even more than the recipient is seeking His grace.

Though the dialogue between God and Zakariya is clearly not one of equals- as the Necessary Being elegantly reminds the contingent being of his contingency in the previous verse- it is certainly and undeniably encased in mutual tenderness and love. God responds to Zakariya’s dua lovingly, responds to his incredulity lovingly, and responds to his request for a sign lovingly, making it abundantly clear how much it pleases Him to please the ones He loves. This is the very reality that was highlighted by Lady Maryam (as) in 3:37, which was the initial catalyst that inspired Zakariya to make his dua. God’s sweetness to Zakariya is at once intoxicating and awe-inspiring- how could even the most wayward sinner not retain hope in such a kind and patient Creator?

Of course, the story doesn’t end there. What Zakariya does immediately after this conversation is highly significant, because it reveals to us one of the many reasons God loves him so deeply. After being guaranteed the fulfillment of his deepest wish, Zakariya’s first act is to go to his people and encourage them to glorify God morning and night (19:11). Zakariya could have simply kept his appreciation of God to himself; he could have privately engaged in adhkar and tasbih to thank God, and left it at that. Instead, he did what every true lover does- he encouraged widespread praise and worship of his Beloved, wanting to share the blessing of his Beloved’s love with everyone around him. In this moment, I am reminded of Nizami’s Majnun and the openness of his love for Layla- instead of loving Layla from the quiet privacy of his room, Majnun made the entire world a temple of his love for her, wanting every heart to awaken to the beauty of Layla. Not unlike Majnun, Zakariya’s intoxicated heart isn’t satisfied with confining God’s beauty within its own chambers- the grateful lover immediately rushes to draw other hearts toward Him, too.

This final act of Zakariya also signifies a beautiful contrast between the beginning and ending of this story- when Zakariya first makes his request, verse 3 of Surah Maryam notes that he calls out to God in secret. Zakariya’s preference for secrecy in the beginning reminds me of the beautiful prophetic etiquette expressed by Prophet Yaqub (as) in verse 86 of Surah Yusuf; God’s most intimate lovers reserve the expression of their anguishes and needs to Him in private. But at the end of the story, when God fulfills Zakariya’s need, Zakariya makes his gratitude a public affair- this echoes another beautiful prophetic etiquette found in verse 11 of Surah Duha, in which God encourages Prophet Muhammad (pbuh) to proclaim His blessings.

If you’re reading this, may Allah (swt) grant all of your hajaat in the most beautiful of ways. If this writing was of any benefit, please pray for the maghfirah and elevation of the young marhumeen of our community, especially Khurram Ali, Murtaza Rizvi, and Rubab Raza, may Allah (swt) grant their loved ones sabr. Please also pray for the freedom of Br. Ali Danial Hemani, and the miraculous recovery of Sr. Tasneem Amin and Sr. Nehmat Farhat.

& please remember this sinful lover in your duas 🙂 ❤

x r

A Love Letter to Masjid e Kufa

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When I was younger, I often felt a deep-seated longing to go ‘home’, a place I could never quite explain or point to on a map. I only knew that I had an eternal restlessness within that never seemed answerable. Year after year, it only seemed to grow. The ‘home’ I yearned for was a place that would instantly feel right, where my soul would feel at peace and the permanent disquiet of my heart would vanish.

When I set foot in Masjid e Kufa for the first time, I felt like I had finally found the home I had been searching for my entire life. As I looked down at the gleaming white tiles of the courtyard and up at the darkening sky above me, I felt a familiarity and comfort that I’d never found anywhere before. And for the first time in my life, I felt deeply, unspeakably complete. As our guide told us about the many events that had taken place there, one in particular struck a chord with me: it was the place where the angel Jibrail (as) had taught Prophet Adam (as) how to perform tawbah, and where Allah (swt) had accepted his tawbah. I suddenly understood why this place felt so much like home: it was a symbol of man’s reunion with God; a place of return to Him after ghaflah.

Before entering the masjid itself, we walked through the adjoining home that was once the residence of Amirul Mumineen (as) and his family. As I pondered the greatness of the beings who had once lived and walked there, my heart filled with a depth of awe that left no room for language. I walked through the house with bated breath, my shoulder against the wall as I thought of Lady Ummul Baneen (as) and imagined the holy footsteps of the Imams treading the same narrow hallways I was passing through. My mind could hardly keep pace with the feelings surging in my heart; no amount of reverence or gratitude could ever do justice to where I was. My sense of smallness and impurity made me want to run away and never return, while my sense of love made me want to stop time and remain there forever. When I finally entered the courtyard of the masjid, it felt like time had started again and I was back in the familiar world I knew, albeit an impossibly peaceful corner of it.

One of my favorite memories of Masjid e Kufa- one that still leaves me wandering there in the corridors of my imagination- was the experience of listening to the munajaat of Imam Ali (as). To hear the exquisite words of one of the most beloved lovers of God- in the very place where he made his final sajdah before returning to his Beloved- was so powerful, it was almost too much for me to bear. I felt like my heart would either burst or take flight. As my soul reveled in the beauty of the lover’s conversation with his Beloved, I felt as though an invisible thread transcending centuries was briefly connecting my heart with that of my master.

Though a thousand letters could never do it justice, I pray that every living soul gets to visit Masjid-e Kufa at least once. It is a place of profound spiritual power and an emblem of our shared human history. So many critical chapters of the human narrative unfolded here, and so many more remain to be seen. If I live long enough, I pray that I might be lucky enough to see the grand masjid fulfill the last of its many roles: as the heart of the government of the awaited Imam Mahdi (atf).

x r

Ali and Fatima: A Reflection on the Greatest Love

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In all the pages of history, I am convinced that no man has ever loved a woman the way Imam Ali (as) loved Lady Fatima (as). He felt her pain so deeply, he built Bayt al Ahzan, a secluded place for her to grieve for her father. Every year during Fatimiyyah, I weep for the Lion of God, who single-handedly lifted the gate of Khaybar, yet let out a cry of anguish when he saw the broken body of his beloved wife. This is the strength of the strongest of men: to feel the utmost tenderness at the pain of his beloved. My heart aches when I think of the loneliness of Ali after the loss of the only woman who understood him, the one whose soul was a perfect match for his. Every time he returned from battle, the mere sight of Fatima’s face dulled the pain of every wound. Every time the betrayal of his enemies pained his heart, the voice of Fatima brought him endless consolation and relief.

When Imam Ali said that he would not worship a Lord he had not seen, I find myself thinking about the tangible realities that surrounded him like finite reflections of his Lord. Though the spiritual insight of Ali needed no external stimulus, I wonder if every love his heart contained was simply another facet of his awareness of God- especially his love for Fatima. When he looked at her face, did he find himself looking at one of the most luminous, evident signs of God? And when he wept upon losing her, did part of his weeping come from the pain of burying one of the most radiant manifestations of his Creator? Though the absence of Fatima would not have affected his awareness of God any more than the wilting of a flower could affect the reality of spring, how comforting must it have been for Ali’s beloved to be a ray reflecting the beauty of his Beloved. If the Holy Prophet (pbuh) would smell Fatima every time he wished to inhale the scent of Paradise, I can only imagine what realities became manifest in every moment that Ali spent with Fatima. She was the flower from Paradise whose fragrance perfumed his mind, the radiant fountain from which eleven streams of guidance flowed. She was the highest testament to the eloquence, beauty, intellect, and sublime dignity of a woman. Who but Ali could be worthy of such a love? And who but Ali could have the patience to endure the loss of such a love?

As I commemorate his shahadat, I think about the resonance of the greatest love the universe has ever seen. As creation mourns the loss of the lion of God, the heavens will soon be illuminated with the reunion of two souls in perfect harmony with each other.

x r

A Love Letter to Sahifa e Sajjadiya

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When I was a precocious teenager with a love of staying up all night to read about philosophy, mysticism, and religion, I would often find myself knee-deep in a diverse sea of concepts and belief systems, and I would wonder: in a world of so many varying perspectives- each with its own share of profundity, wisdom, and spiritual resonance- how could I presume that my faith of choice was the absolute truth? How could I be certain that I wasn’t allowing my personal biases and inclinations to dictate my spiritual beliefs?

At age 15, I fell in love with a book that gave me a deeper certainty of my path than anything I’d ever tasted before: Sahifa e Sajjadiya. From the moment I began to read the beautiful supplications therein, I felt certain that the man who had uttered these words had known God more deeply than any philosopher, scholar, sage, or mystic I had ever come across in all my years of secular study. I had been captivated by the brilliant insights of Plato and Descartes, the mesmerizing poetry of Hafiz, and the timeless wisdom of Lao Tzu, but the eloquent perfection of Imam Zain al Abideen’s connection with God left me breathless. The beauty of his supplications left room in my heart for just one unrelenting, permanent desire: to know God more deeply. I wanted to learn to speak to God as Imam Sajjad (as) did; as though He were the most intimate of all lovers, the most beloved of all friends, the most revered of all confidants. I wanted to trust God more deeply than I trusted myself, to learn to rely on Him in every aspect of my existence.

The first time I learned the meaning of the name ‘Zain al Abideen’ as a child, I felt perplexed; surely every member of the Ahlulbayt (as) could be regarded as ‘the beauty of the worshipers’, what set Imam Sajjad apart? Though this question has been explored by those with infinitely more knowledge and depth than myself, my heart blooms with fresh understanding every time I weep for the masaib of Imam Sajjad in Karbala, Kufa, Shaam, and Medina. The worship of a man who has lived a life of peace and ease is mere worship. The worship of a man who has witnessed the horrors Imam Sajjad endured, remained alive for forty years to grieve the memory of these pains, and yet never wavered in the depth of his love for God, is a degree of worship that must leave even the angels speechless.

Like many, I am moved beyond words every time I think of the immortal utterance of Lady Zainab (as) in the courtyard of Yazid: “I saw nothing but beauty.” But while Lady Zainab was the literal embodiment of this statement, Imam Sajjad was its living, breathing tafsir. The faith of a flagrant sinner like myself is a wave that perpetually ebbs and flows; the slightest grief or disturbance can cause a tempest or a drought. But the God-consciousness of Imam Sajjad was like a steady ocean with no discernible floor; even in the face of circumstances that would shatter the strongest of men, he remained deeply, profoundly in love with God, and no pain in the universe could ever distract him from this love- it was the very essence of his soul.

The 70th surah of the Holy Qur’an, Al Ma’arij, contains a verse that is often noted for its beauty: “so be patient, with a beautiful patience.” When I reflect on this verse, my mind wanders to the life of my beloved fourth Imam. To have ordinary patience is to merely endure pain; to have beautiful patience is to alchemize pain into a boundless, unceasing awareness of God. ‘Beautiful patience’ means that one has learned to view every moment of suffering as yet another reason to love and thank God; to view grief as a means to worship Him in a manner that bespeaks a level of gratitude and trust that is completely immune to circumstance. It is in light of this definition that I understand one of the Imam’s best-known titles: Sayyid us Sajideen.  Sajdah is the ultimate expression of one’s submission to the will of Allah (swt); it is the literal and metaphorical lowering of the self to bear witness to the greatness of God.  Imam Sajjad’s frequent prostrating was not merely a physical act he repeated at every opportunity; it was a testament to the nature of his lifelong relationship with God, wherein he viewed himself as nothing but an ‘abd of Allah, and viewed Allah as the sole Master to whom he owed unlimited gratitude, loyalty, love, and obedience.  

In closing, I’d like to share the most beautiful line from one of my favorite duas in the Sahifa, the Whispered Prayer of the Lovers:

“My God, who can have tasted the sweetness of Your love, then wanted another in place of You?”

x r

The Lover of Isa (as): A Reflection on the Night of Power

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There’s a beautiful Sufi saying i read once- i can’t remember the exact phrasing, but it was something along the lines of, “i overheard one conversation in the bazaar, and a hundred doors of wisdom opened within me.”

Many years ago, i experienced something akin to the magic invoked in that saying. It was the eve of the 23rd of Ramadhan, and my mom and i stopped by her Christian best friend’s house to drop off some food. Just before she left, my mom mentioned to her friend, “tonight is a very powerful night, so you should pray.” Without missing a beat, my mom’s friend immediately responded, “ok, i will.”

I don’t know why, but the swiftness of her reply- and the absolute sincerity in her voice as she responded- had a profound effect on my heart that still lingers to this day. She didn’t pause to think about it, or begrudge the fact that it was a suggestion rooted in a faith that was different than hers; it was as if she was instinctively ready to embrace any opportunity to worship God a little more. Many years have passed, but i still marvel at the beauty of that moment every time i think about it. It was just a fleeting sentence, but the quickness with which she said “i will” contained a fascinating spiritual lesson for me. In that one simple moment, she embodied the peak of what God wants from us: the beautiful sense of inner urgency that makes us say yes to any opportunity to get closer to Him- without hesitation, without any permutation of logic or evaluation of circumstance; just a genuine, sincere, intuitive “yes” that comes as naturally as breathing when we truly love Him. Reflecting on it now, i’m reminded of the beautiful phrase repeatedly found in the adhan and iqamah; “hayya ‘ala”- “hasten to”. While patience is essential in most areas of life, love and worship necessitate urgency, because the benefit of what one stands to gain is such that haste becomes the only sensible reaction.

In its deepest essence, this is what Divine love does: it magnetizes the soul to rush toward every opportunity for a deeper connection with the Beloved. It makes God such an absolute focal point, rationalization is rendered unnecessary the moment He comes into the picture, and the heart reflexively leads the cacophonous mind and tired body toward His light.

That night also made me think about the way the energy of the Night of Power can be intuitively felt by all living beings, regardless of creed. Throughout the month of Ramadhan, i often find that nature feels more vividly alive, as if every form of creation is engaging in a deeper level of ibadah. This difference is especially palpable on Laylatul Qadr- everything from the wind to the moon and stars seem to beautify themselves so as to attest to the greatness of their Creator; there’s a quiet pride in the atmosphere, and a dormant bliss in the sky that moves the soul to worship the moment one steps outside. It’s as if the air itself bears the fragrance of Divine mercy, as if God is as restless to forgive us as we are to beseech Him.

If you’re reading this, may God fulfill your every hajaat in the most beautiful of ways tonight; please keep me in your duas as well ❤

x r

Worship

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Worship is the slow heartbeat of my footsteps as i wander through a solitary pathway in the heart of the forest, sipping the sweet summer air like sun-warmed nectar.  It’s shutting my eyes to the faults of others and holding a magnifying glass to my own; it’s looking deeply at each person and recalling only the good. It’s granting myself permission to step away from the world’s incessant distractions to explore the unmet dimensions of my soul.

Worship is recognizing myself as both an observer of the infinitely-expanding universe and a mortal, finite reflection of its deepest beauty.  It’s the act of cultivating both profound strength and profound softness within the malleable chambers of my heart. Worship is taming my inner wildness and disciplining my unruly heart; becoming aware of my infinite corruptibility and sedating my insatiable desires.  It’s letting myself revel in the things that delight me while getting lost in the ecstasy of the One who created them; it’s recognizing my missteps and leaning on Him for the courage to return to His path every time i falter.

Worship is every moment in which my thoughts wander back to Him, no matter where i am.  It’s an all-consuming, passionate preoccupation that causes my mind to stray down paths where we can be alone, even in the midst of vast crowds.  Worship is making morning tea for my parents, taking time to see the ones i love even when my heart craves solitude, striking up a conversation even when shyness makes my cheeks redden.  Worship is striving to become a living emblem of His pleasure, His beauty, His mercy, His kindness, His love; to move through life as a vessel of His remembrance and a bridge to His deepest affection; to be a ray of Light that warms as gently as it captivates.  

x r

Autumn Reverie

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The last rays of autumn sunshine burrow into my soul, bathing my essence in hues of burnished gold.  My cheeks flush scarlet, warmed by the firefly spark of the setting sun as it slips into the open arms of the horizon. This moment is so brief, yet eternity unfolds within it. What has my soul ever been but a brief conversation You wished to have? Who are You, but a question You created the universe to answer? What is the universe but the golden thread within Your needle, a wild stream of ink dripping from Your pen?

What am i but a living, breathing paradox etched in Your beautiful imagination? With what threads did You weave the strange fabric of my being? When i fluttered like a daydream out of Your unseen consciousness, You left the taste of Your softness in my soul, leaving me permanently hungry for Your beauty.  The eager world tugs at the edges of my veil, but the last dream of my soul is to be found beautiful by You.  I want to be known by You, seen by You, loved by You… i pray to be sought only by eyes that are awake to Your beauty; to be loved only by a heart lost in Your affection.

x r

Confessions of a Lover

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Some nights, i feel like the foolish shepherd Prophet Moses (as) scolded in Maulana Rumi’s fable. I am permanently entranced by God’s beauty- it envelops me in the form of starlit September evenings that hum with the impending rumor of fall, moonlit pathways, velvety roses, and late summer sunsets that make my breath hitch in my throat.

I think about Him as i get ready; i twirl my hair around my fingers like a shy girl nervous to see her lover. I put on a beautiful dress, dab a bit of kohl on my lashes, and spray my favorite perfume on my neck, the rich scent of flowers flooding my senses. None of it matters to Him, but i can’t help but beautify myself for the One i love most.

As i slip on my golden anklets, i think about all the things i want to talk to Him about. How the bluejay that stops by from time to time makes me smile as he flutters his stained-glass wings, how i hope it pleases Him when i nurture the hungry animals who come to visit, how i can’t look at anyone or anything without feeling a rush of affection for Him, how my poems seem to write themselves whenever my consciousness loses itself in Him. How i yearn to be a mystic, yet will likely never grow out of my childlike love of laughter and mischief. How the pursuit of knowledge sates my restless mind, yet inheres a thirst whose inability to be quenched marks my mind like a Divine signature. How the loneliness and guilt of Adam (as) strikes at my heart, and how deeply i relate to him; how my heart melts every time i think about the angel that consoled him and kept him company. How i fear being too different to be understood; how i crave love, yet shy away from it for fear of displeasing Him. How i sometimes wish He’d tell me exactly what to do at every juncture, but am always ever so slightly too foolish to heed Him perfectly. How even in moments of childish rebellion, all i want to do is surrender and sink in to the soft pleasure of submitting to Him.

How i hope against hope to win His heart despite my flaws; how the tranquility of His remembrance spills out in the way i move and speak; how i try to dull myself to match the quiet cadence of the world around me, but grow restless to become a living symphony again. How i want my life to resemble a love letter penned solely to Him; how i hope He’ll love me in return and grant me a place near Him in Paradise. How the only mortal love i crave is one that draws me closer to Him. How i know these hopes are audacious and improbable, yet i place my faith not in myself, but in His infinite kindness and generosity.

x r

The Worship of a Child: A Reflection on Laylatul Qadr

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On Laylatul Qadr a few years ago, my most powerful moment of spiritual insight came from my friend’s four year old son.

Halfway through the night, I chose a quiet corner so I could begin the lengthy night prayer. My young friend followed and decided he wanted to pray with me. He didn’t know the words, but quietly matched my movements perfectly. After the completion of each set of rakaats, I glanced over and smiled at him, expecting him to be bored or tired, but he stood back up each time with an enthusiasm that put me to shame. The world of a typical four-year-old is full of color, excitement, and an endless array of distractions, but on this night, my young friend stood with me to pray as if it was the greatest delight in the world. I found myself torn between awe of my Creator and awe of this tiny, exuberant child whose single-minded worship left me speechless.

When I reflected on his behavior later, his actions got me thinking about the evolving nature of a believer’s heart, and the innate joy we feel as children every time we connect with the One who made us. As children, we aren’t yet burdened by a sense of unworthiness, hopelessness, or insurmountable fear… There is no worldliness, self-doubt, or negativity within us yet that places an imaginary distance between us and God. Our awareness of Him is inherent, inescapable, unspoken- it lives within us like a foregone conclusion, and we have no separation from it. When we pray to God as children, we haven’t yet learned to think of any reason why He wouldn’t answer our prayers- we speak to Him with the absolute conviction that He will, because all we know is that He is the Giver, and this knowledge is sufficient for us to trust that He will give. We approach worship with the same joy and lightness that we approach playtime. In our purity and innocence, worship simply feels like another form of play for us.

As children, we don’t yet know how to ponder our own worthiness or unworthiness; we are cognizant only of Allah’s greatness. Something it has taken me a lifetime time to grasp is that self-doubt isn’t an egoless state; it’s a state in which the imaginary fears of the ego are actually overtaking us. To be truly egoless, the way a child is, means that we don’t even begin to evaluate our place in the equation; all there is is God and His greatness. If I truly think about it, isn’t this the kind of steady, tranquil worship that enables a man to utter ‘Bismillah’ and walk across a body of water? If we truly want to taste the sweetness of worship, perhaps the secret lies in teaching ourselves to see God with the unblemished reverence of a child.

x r

Unconditional Love

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It’s a beautiful, chilly day at the end of October, and i’m running on approximately 2 hours of sleep. I throw on a stunning ivory dress lined with pearls and set out for a mawlid festival at the masjid. My outfit is a bit too form-fitting, so i drape a large shawl around my body- a decision i gradually come to regret as i realize the shawl weighs as much as a small child. I get to the celebration and feel awash in a wave of pure joy- everyone there is radiating with happiness, as if bathed in profound, palpable affection for our beloved Prophet and his family. I wish i could bask in this energy forever; my heart aches to stay, but i’ve got a long day ahead of me.

As i embark on the lengthy drive across town to the next milad, i’m briefly startled when the seatbelt sensor of my passenger seat goes off. “Oh my God, is there a jinn in here with me?!” I nearly have a heart attack until i realize that the weight of my annoyingly heavy shawl must’ve triggered the sensor, so i push it off the seat, laughing at my own paranoia. I get to the next milad and realize i haven’t eaten anything all day- i’m running on iced coffee and fumes. I struggle to sit upright as the milad keeps going and going, exhaustion slowly taking over my body like a sleep paralysis demon. When it’s my turn to recite, i realize i’m too tired to hit the usual notes, so i modify the tune a bit and narrowly pull it off. As the milad draws to a close, i thank God with every remaining ounce of strength in my body and rush toward the door, but a chorus of voices calls out from behind me as two aunties ask me to give them a ride home. My body wants me to say no, but i have a feeling God wants me to say yes, so i sleepily agree.

After dropping the first aunty off, i’m alone with the second, who happens to be one of my favorite human beings on the planet. I should be on the verge of passing out and i can feel tears of exhaustion pooling in my eyes, but i’m in the presence of someone i love, so i feel wide awake and profoundly happy; her very existence eliminates all notions of tiredness. On the drive home, she tells me that she loves me the way she loves her own daughter, and calls me beautiful in a way that makes my heart melt. As she showers me in the sweetest praise i’ve ever heard, i feel unconditionally safe and loved, and i forget what it means to be tired or afraid. My cheeks flush and i feel the requisite nervousness of “God, please don’t let me prove her wrong”, but a part of me understands that she loves me from a place of soul, not illusion. She happily tells me about a meeting the elders’ club is having the next day and asks me to come, but my heart sinks as i tell her that i’ve got another commitment. As she excitedly tells me what they have planned, it strikes me that this is the single biggest complaint i have against life in this world: we never get to spend enough time with the people we love most, and it isn’t socially acceptable to simply tear up your schedule and tell someone, “all i want is to spend hours and days and months just basking in the pleasure of your company, can i do that? Can we please forget about the world for a while and just delight in the presence of each others’ souls?” She tenderly holds my free hand as i drive, and i realize i’m going to miss this night forever.

When i think of the Awliya’ullah, i don’t think of perfect men in flowing robes with beards of silver and shelves full of books, i think of her impossibly soft heart- the way gratitude pours from her lips like a constant prayer; the way she radiates a beautiful depth of God-consciousness my soul can never seem to get enough of. When i think of beauty, i don’t think of youthful faces or chiseled bodies; i think of the warmth of her deep brown eyes and the feeling of absolute love and safety that floods me every time i look into them. Every time she speaks to me, i feel so softly, lovingly seen; given shelter by eyes kinder, gentler, more forgiving than any i’ve ever known. I squeeze her hand in gratitude and say thank you, but my words feel trite relative to the surge of emotion i feel in my heart. I’m still a child relative to her; not sinless enough to be a worthy disciple, nor wise enough to be her student. But my soul dances every time i’m in her presence, and my heart tracks her movements like a dance and remains intoxicated for days.        

x r