Tag: imam ali

Ali and Fatima: A Reflection on the Greatest Love

Featured ~ Rubab ~ Leave a comment

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 Tale of Two Strangers in Najaf: A Reflection on Human Tenderness

~ Rubab ~ Leave a comment

When I went to ziyarat a few years ago, there was a period of time in Najaf when my heart ached because of the way people behaved. Every time I tried to visit the interior of the shrine, I was shoved, elbowed, and choked, as many people were violently aggressive in their attempts to reach the zari. On a particularly rough day, I felt disheartened because of the principle of the matter: how was it that we could be gathered in one of the holiest cities in the world, to honor one of the greatest men who had ever lived, only to treat each other so poorly? The more I thought about it, the more I felt a childish surge of anger that distracted me from experiencing the pleasure of that sublime place.

Later that night, I went back to the shrine of Imam Ali (as) and moved several times because of the crowd. I finally found a peaceful spot and settled down to pray next to two women. As I finished the prayer and sat down to recite some duas, the woman sitting next to me said salaam with a huge smile, hugged me, and began complimenting me in a mixture of broken English and Farsi. She kept praising the way I worshiped, touched my face and told me I was beautiful, kissed my cheeks, and praised me again and again for simply doing what millions of people were there to do. There was no hint of shyness or reserve in the love she expressed; it was as if she were an old friend I’d run into after a lengthy separation. The sweetness of her behavior melted my heart and flooded me with awe. She told her companion about me and the other woman hugged and kissed me as well, and both women enveloped me in the warmest, kindest energy I’d ever encountered from strangers. A while after they left, I remembered how uneasy I’d been feeling before, and it occurred to me that it couldn’t have been a coincidence that I had ended up sitting next to them. It struck me that my master Amir ul Mu’mineen (as) wouldn’t have allowed me to leave his city without softening my heart and reminding me not to allow momentary displeasure to cloud my love for my fellow human beings.

Many years have passed, but the lesson those two women taught me has woven its way into the fabric of my heart, reminding me of the profound power of human tenderness: in a world that abounds with cruelty and indifference, having the courage to be warm, loving, and kind creates a force that dispels every form of darkness. In an era replete with hyper-individualism, kindness is like a foreign language that we sometimes feel too timid to speak- but the more we speak it, the more we realize that this is the highest calling our souls were created for: to become a living, tangible reflection of the infinite tenderness and mercy of the Divine. Every day, the world gives us endless reasons to become cynical, jaded, and doubtful of good. Yet the tenderness of a soft-hearted human being breaks this spell and reminds us that goodness exists everywhere- it only waits for us to open our hearts and recognize it until we, too, grow to embody it. The two women also reminded me that love wasn’t created to be a finite resource- it begs to be poured into every being and creature we encounter, no matter how briefly.

No discussion of tenderness would be complete without acknowledging the tender-hearted king of Najaf himself, Amir ul Mu’mineen. We often speak of Imam Ali’s loyalty, eloquence, and courage, but on nights of reflection, it’s the unparalleled depth of his empathy that takes my breath away. After the Prophet (pbuh), Imam Ali was the greatest being in existence- the most devoted ‘abd of Allah, the victor of countless battles, a champion unparalleled in strength, intellect, and Divine significance. And yet- Ali remained Ali. Despite experiencing the pinnacle of both honor and hardship, he never forgot the most vulnerable members of his community. Not only did he make time to shower them with reverence, kindness, and love, but he genuinely perceived them as no less important and beloved than those who had far more to offer him. When Ali felt the deprivation of the orphans of Kufa, it’s as if he felt their hunger within his own body- as if he couldn’t sleep until he made sure their hunger was satiated and their joy revived. It’s no surprise that these orphans felt as if the sky had fallen on the 19th of Ramadhan; for who but Ali could love the forgotten children of his city with the tenderness of a father?

At his doorstep, we learn not just the art of prayer itself, but the art of turning every interaction into a potential moment of worship. Our Imam actualized compassion as perfectly as he actualized bravery and ‘ubudiyyah, exemplifying the reality that faith is incomplete without tenderness of heart. This is why our hearts eternally gravitate toward holy cities like Najaf: the magnetism of a loving soul is so powerful, it calls to us across continents, oceans, and centuries, flooding us with love for beings we have never met, yet would happily give our lives for. To feel this depth of ‘ishq is to be a true mu’min; to embody it is to be a true Shi’a.

x r

Ya Ali

~ Rubab ~ 2 Comments

There was a name my mother taught me, long before I learned to speak
That I could utter like a prayer if I felt frightened, lost, or weak.
This name- its letters carried me, and made of me a sparrow
Casting light on every wayward path, no matter how dark or narrow.
Every time I speak aloud this name in moments I need aid,
It’s like wings begin emerging from between my shoulder blades.
When my heart is caught off guard, it returns me to my self
And points me to the sacred book that sits upon my shelf.

It was among the holy names my Creator taught to Prophet Adam;
Among the holiest of secrets that the angels couldn’t fathom.
It is the name I whisper quietly, in the face of every need,
It was the name on Zainab’s weary lips, in the courtyard of Yazid.
It is the name that grants me entry, into the city of ‘ilm and hikmah;
It is the name that completes religion, as revealed in Ma’idah.
It was the name Rasulallah called out, like a cry of victory
When he sought the bravest of his sahaba, who would not hesitate or flee.
Peace be upon that warrior, the fearless lion of Allah;
The nafs of the Holy Prophet, and the beloved of Zahra.
The one born within the walls of the holiest of places,
Whose eyes would only open for the holiest of faces.

Our brothers often ask us, why we rave about Ali
Instead of talking about God or Rahmatul lil Alameen.
The merits of the Prophet, aren’t denied by anyone,
So many ayaat of the Qur’an confirm that he’s the greatest one.
But so many titles of Ali, were usurped by his enemies
Who may have called themselves Siddiq, Farooq, and al Ghani,
To them I say, remember when, our Prophet’s life was at an end,
And the last of his requests, was some paper and a pen?
You didn’t heed his dying wish, to write the name of his wali,
So it’s that sunnah we carry out, when we write the merits of Ali.

If you want me to accept, another Amirul Mu’mineen
Find me a man who loved Allah, as profoundly as Ali.
Within a single munajaat, I find the pinnacle of Tawhid;
With the exception of the Prophet, no one knew God like Ali.
Born in the house of God, and martyred while he worshiped
Ali’s life began with haqq, and the life of haqq became Ali.

It is the wish of every poet to touch the heavens with her words,
To take a lifeless set of letters and transform them into birds,
But the essence of my subject, is far beyond the reach of ink
For Ali exceeds the reach of those who philosophize and think.
They try to moderate this love, to confine its outer limits
Because it hasn’t taken root within the essence of their spirits
For wilayah is the bridge that unites the soul with its Creator;
If Tawhid is the highest level, wilayah is the elevator.
But to comprehend wilayah, and gain that immortal elevation
We must replace the filth of ego with pure intoxication.
There’s no room for multiplicity, the heart only serves one master
To put anyone before him, results in fitnah and disaster.

The ‘ishq of Ali possesses me, and makes a home within my being
It gives my eyes a newfound sight, that sees without physically seeing.
This love that set aflame the jealous heart of Ubaidullah
Still infuriates the admirers of the likes of Muawiyah.
But no matter what our enemies say, I will write about wilayah
With the single-minded passion, of Majnun in love with Layla.

I swear by that lonely man, who gave his secrets to the earth
This love exceeds the universe, in both resonance and worth.
This love flows within the blood, that courses through my veins
It exceeds the seven oceans and every depth that they contain.
Like Abu Dhar al Ghifari, I would rather roam the desert sands,
Than contemplate the leadership of any other man;
I can not call myself a Shi’a, but it remains my only dream
to become worthy of the path of Amirul Mu’mineen.
So like Maytham at Tammar, may my tongue be sacrificed
And may this passion stay alive after the last of us has died.

–Rubab Zaidi

Audio: https://soundcloud.com/rubabwrites/ya-ali