By: Sister Sahar Hussain
Of your which wound shall I narrate;
O' Hassan ibn Ali?
Allow me to confess:
I fear;
I fear my eulogy will fall short of you!
Shall I speak of the eye,
that witnessed Ali's helplessness,
or of the heart, that ached with pain;
recollecting his mother's broken ribs?
The morning breeze, absorbed your tears;
whilst you looked at the gloomy picture,
that faded gently.
The soil of your mother's grave,
heaven's scent of musk,
consoles you O' Hassan ibn Ali.
The stream of memory,
flows past you,
as you prepare for more sufferings.
O' Zahra's darling Hassan;
you are the reflection of purity.
Under the shelter of the Yemeni cloak,
your nobility & patience glowed.
I wish to kiss the scars of prostration,
that are on your limbs!
How time passes by,
and we near the hour of parting.
My beloved Imam,
what poison have they fed you,
that your state worsens so immensely?
May my parent's be your ransom,
do have a look at your sister Zainab!
How her face grows paler,
as she sees the pieces of your liver,
lying on the basin.
O' Hassan ibn Ali,
The angels greet you;
as your mother welcomes you.
Your father, stands by the gate of Paradise,
waiting to reunite with his poisoned son.
My Imam;
I hear some mournful songs,
the world echoes with; " Come to me my lonely Hassan! "
As I end my poem,
I see a man by the lake of Kawthar.
His tears summon you,
tell me my Imam,
what is he whispering?
May I be sacrificed for you;
is he not Muhammad; your grandfather?