Tag: Poetry

The Unseen Weeper

Featured ~ Rubab ~ Leave a comment

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.

How to Steal a Poet’s Heart

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If you want to steal a poet’s heart, touch her soul like a reverberating thread on a sunlit spider’s web, like autumn rushing hungrily into the outstretched arms of winter.  Capture her in your palms like a firefly dancing through the sultry daydreams of summer; catch her on your tongue like the first snowfall in winter. Bathe her in the euphoria of falling stars drunk on the earth’s magnetism, sip her essence like nectar fluent in the dialect of hummingbirds; pursue her like a moth teaching a candle how to burn.  Make her forget the beauty of a thousand sunsets with the tender poetry of your heart; write her letters the moon would trade a hundred starlit sonnets to read.

Her soul is a gentle, forgiving deviation. Be her warmth, her strength, her shelter; be a few moments of steady, unyielding safety amid the cold brutality of the world. She shields herself with the calm, playful forcefield of her heart, but vulnerability defines her; she is a tiny river that dreams of an ocean to hold her when the world’s currents grow strong and her courage grows weak.  But she wasn’t created to crave a shallow, fleeting love that has to be persuaded or won. She was created to bend to a love that has steady, undying roots in His Love; a love that pulls back the curtain of eternity and gives her a glimpse of timelessness. 

x r

The Secret DNA of Languages

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Urdu: the lingering scent of rosewater on bare skin, the gleam of silver anklets on a moonlit night, the music of glass bangles falling against each other, the soft blush elicited by a lover’s gaze, kohl-lined eyes full of passion and warmth, the pleasurable burn of spices at the back of one’s throat, the quiet magnetism of the moon persuading the tides to dance, a steady pair of arms wrapped around one’s waist, love letters slipped into secret hiding places, the alluring perfume of jasmines carried by spring breezes, the sensation of reveling in the sweetness of a loved one’s smile, the bliss of dancing in the rain at the peak of summer, the lush decadence of night-blooming flowers, the poetic innocence of daydreams, the otherworldly cadence of a besotted qawwal, the ecstasy of sinking into a bed both firm and soft, the warm laughter of loved ones gathered for afternoon tea, the sensation of biting into a ripe mango and feeling the juice run down one’s chin, a translucent veil draped over a cascade of dark hair

Farsi: the watchful majesty of a king surveying his kingdom, sugar cubes melting on a feverish tongue, the intoxicating sweetness of ripe cherries in spring, the delicate symphony of clinking tea glasses, the sweetness of melted butter on fluffy grains of rice, the untraceable warmth of moonlight, a sunlit garden full of decadent roses, the passionate reunion of separated lovers, the sensation of shutting one’s eyes and listening to a tranquil birdsong, the elegant symmetry of a dancer’s arched back, a long pleasant walk with no need for destination, stray moments of reflection amid softly falling rain, the quiet ecstasy of prayers whispered into the ear of God, the dreamy feeling of leaving one’s body and transcending to a higher realm, the earthy fragrance of dried saffron, smooth turquoise tiles warmed by the midday sun, the feeling of lying awake at night and conversing with the stars, the delicate shelter of a soft black veil

Arabic: the guttural roar of a lion on the threshold of victory, the heady scent of honey dripping from one’s fingertips, the unsheathed brilliance of the full moon, heartfelt laughter that reaches one’s eyes, the warmth of a lost lover’s eager embrace, a pair of eyes deep enough to get lost in, the gleam of water droplets on fresh mint leaves, the warm fragrance of freshly baked pita bread, the feeling of returning home after a long journey and falling into a pair of familiar arms, the playful dance of bold glances between strangers, the tension of a drawn bowstring, finding shelter in the eye of a hurricane, the raucous laughter of running children, the smoky perfume of black tea and melted sugar, a few stray notes of an ancient love song, the rich scent of tobacco on a cold winter night, the valiant experience of smiling through one’s tears, the salty sweetness of olives soaked in brine, the tender comfort of a mother’s prayer, wild horses running across sun-kissed sand dunes

x r

Meet Me at Dusk, Beloved

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Meet me at dusk, Beloved,
let’s get lost in the soft rumor of the night’s heartbeat

I linger like a myth on the shadow of the waves
The mystic moon hangs wreaths of stars above us
Weave my spirit into the passionate longing of the night
Kiss me as the music of the moon kisses the gleaming petals of the rose

Haven’t we endured this distance long enough?
Let’s fall into each other’s arms like tired stars
And bless the night with the borrowed dream of starswept lovers
drunk on the wine of Eternity.

Come sweeten this separation
with the moonlit honey of reunion;
meet me at dusk, Beloved.

x r

A Celebration of Love: A Poem on the Birth of Lady Fatima (as)

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Audio: https://soundcloud.com/rubabwrites/a-celebration-of-love-a-poem-on-the-birth-of-lady-fatima-as

A few years after Bi’tha, in the sixth month of the year,
the Prophet’s household is aglow, for the birth of Fatima is near.
The horizons start to blush at the rumor of her grace;
the stars gleam in anticipation of the beauty of her face.
The moon shyly bows its head out of hayaa and respect
and the sun composes poetry in a luminous dialect.
The celebration of her existence stirs every atom on the earth
as if the universe was created in anticipation of her birth.

A fruit from a forbidden tree brought Adam out of Jannah
yet the fruit the Prophet ate contained the pathway back to Jannah;
For within that fruit of Paradise was the light of Fatima
and the secret of salvation is the pleasure of Zahra.
She is the ever-flowing fountain, quenching the thirst of every soul
between nabuwwah and imamah, she is the link that makes them whole.

As i congratulate the ummah on the dawning of this night
My deepest felicitations are for the lover of that light;
For within the union of Ali and his beloved Fatima
lies the pathway of reunion between the human and Allah.
The power of Ali is often measured by his sword,
but the backbone of his strength was the woman he adored.

And if Ali divorced the world, why should a lover feel surprised?
What are a hundred billion galaxies compared to Zahra’s eyes?
With a single loving glance, she could heal his aching heart
like a rose that leaves its fragrance long after it departs.
She was the refuge of his secrets, the blood within his veins;
she was the yusr that was promised at the heart of every pain.
They were two seas that flowed in unison, giving birth to pearls and coral
A love that unveiled eternity into a universe temporal.

As we celebrate her coming, we celebrate our own revival
For the fulfillment of all creation lies in Fatima’s arrival.
For a woman whose heart awakens to the love of Fatima
becomes a bridge that brings the ones she loves closer to Allah.
And a man whose heart has grasped the nobility of Ali
Will not rest until he frees his soul from the nafs’s tyranny.
For Tawhid is the deepest yearning, at the core of every soul
No matter where our paths diverge, we all share this common goal
So the heart of every creature seeks the doorstep of Zahra
And this threshold bears the perfect path that returns us to Allah.

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

The Bearer of Roses

~ Rubab ~ Leave a comment

She was born with armfuls of roses, and cast into a marketplace that dealt only in stems.  She carried those precious flowers for years, like wayward orphans perched in the cradle of her arms, refusing to give up on their beauty.  But over time her arms grew weary, and the stark sight of her flowers of red against their stems of green began to singe her.  Finally, she tore off all her petals, one by one, until at last she was left with stems no different from theirs.

“Oh!” they exclaimed, as if seeing her for the first time.  “What a remarkable bunch of stems!” The verdant freshness of her stalks won her lovers everywhere.  But as she went to bed each night, she slept with the exhaustion of one whose rose-drunk heart spends each day feigning interest in dispassionate stems.  She dreamt endlessly of her missing roses; of the exquisite texture of each petal as it had once kissed her skin, of the vibrancy of that blushing scarlet pallor, of the heady perfume that had once enraptured her thoughts every time she inhaled, now singing to her with its phantom notes. The world was at her feet, but she felt bitter, empty, and distant. The love they gave her felt like an illusion; she hungered for reality.

Finally, the day came when her yearning for truth outweighed her desire for the pleasure of acceptance. As certainty filled her heart, her roses grew back, now more luxuriant and beautiful than ever. The day they fully bloomed, she took a deep breath and stepped into the marketplace again. As she approached the crowd that had once clamored for her affection, she drew icy, venomous stares and expressions of astonishment.  The people began to whisper among themselves, some audibly laughing as they chided her. She smiled with relief, knowing she had made the correct decision. From that day onward, she walked happily through the streets of the marketplace, leaving a trail of fragrant petals everywhere she went.

Over time, something strange happened: the roses that had once drawn scorn and censure became widely, deeply loved. Soon enough, the marketplace was aflood with beautiful roses in every shade and texture, the air perpetually perfumed by their alluring scent. Occasionally, newcomers would arrive, each bringing a new array of flowers; lilies, sunflowers, orchids, irises, peonies, and more, until the once-colorless marketplace became a vibrant paradise filled with every imaginable hue.  As each new person arrived, the bearer of roses came to greet them, ensuring that they would never feel alone.

x r