When the Skies Wept Blood

Poem 3: Haider's martyrdom

As my mind thinks of your final days,
The ink from my pen strays,
What does a mere lover have to say,
About when from this world,
You were forever taken away.

I see the moon weeping in the shadows,
As the sorrowful whispers of the wind blows,
Mountains bow down low,
And rain as tears from heaven flows,
As the one who was born in God's house,
To his Lord,
His soul goes.

Let my pen take you back to the moment of his birth,
When all the other planets were encircling the Earth,
And now the ground trembles and shakes,
Mountains crumble and break,
Birds wail in his quake,
As his final steps to Kufa's mosque,
He takes.

Orphans are hungry and in the streets
crying,
As they see their father, their protector, 
dying,
The Quran is at the hands of Muslims,
Bleeding
As he prostrates to his creator,
His fate patiently,
Awaiting.

The Kaaba is his protector,
He is Muhammad's brother and flag bearer,
Hasnain's father,
Fatima's honour,
The Quran's armour,
The lion of Allah,
Today and always,
Our Moula,
Ali al Murtuza,
And yet his blood has been shed,
By the sword of a coward soldier,
As Haider prostrates

In battle,
You are God's lion,
No one has the audacity to show you their face,
In the shadows of the night,
They fade.
Yet in prayer,
A coward came behind you and struck with his poisonous blade.

And Ali,
You were not like any man to roam this Earth,
The world truly did not know your worth,
As you freed your killer and took care of his thirst,
For when you go to the fountain of Ali,
Even a traitor is shown mercy,
Even the deceitful does not leave your house empty.

I see Zainab's Noor as bright as the moon,
As she cries and laments her father's doom,
The whole of Kufa is encased in grief and gloom.