No candle by your grave ...

By: Sahar Hussain

Dedication to Imam Muhammed Al-Baqir (as). Imam Baqir was martyred by Hisham, at the age of 57 on 7th of Dhul-Hijja 114 Hijrah.

 

The heart sings this eulogy ...

Treading miles afar from home,
spanning the delicate hours of life,
aspiring to behold the awaited glory
As I walk past a narrow alley,
the sun of Medina brims over,
casting upon an exhausted traveller,
its motherly warmth.
A wry smile draws on my wrinkled face,
the weary face, bearing signs of pain.
Another step closer to the pathway,
and a whisper confining a secret ...
" Oh Jabir, you will have a long life,
although your eyes shall lose their sight,
yet, you would have the honor of meeting my fifth descendant. "
With this the voice grew less dominant,
exposing the suppression of tears.
" Jabir, when you meet him, give my salaams to him".
Silence dawns.

 

Jabir Ibn Abdullah Al-Ansari,
positioned cosily by the road-side,
with hair strands so white and pure,
and eyes silently profound.
Jabir waited devoutly,
longing to hear the foot-steps of a man most dear to him.
The fruits of his patience grew aloft,
the day came when a young man,
walked along the path,
claded modestly with the sweet perfume of musk.
Jabir stood up, and greeted the young prince,
and asked his good name.
" Muhammed " he replied softly.
Jabir then asked, "Whose son?"
" Ali ibn Al-Hussain " he replied.
Jabir had now recognised the man.
Like a father embracing his lost child,
Jabir held Al-Muhammed in his arms.
With tears blurring his long lost vision,
he confined his secret to the young man,
" Your Grandfather, Rasul'Allah has sent you his salaams "
The sun shined in admiration,
as the scene gently evanished from sight.

 

Baqir - the one who splits open knowledge,
the title that the young man bore.
I advanced in my quest for quenching my consuming thirst,
thirst, which burned the fuel of love in my heart.
Imam Muhammed Al-Baqir,
pleasantly spreading the grains of knowledge,
to the famished birds of Arabia.
I walk past his warm house,
and kissed his door, as I left the vicinity.
This scene mixes with the former,
as I walk well in advance to it.

 

A new path,
presenting Hisham, the umayyad caliph of his time.
As he digs into his throne,
hatred flames ferociously in his eye,
stinging every muscle of my body.
Poison - a legacy of the umayyads,
a soundless weapon they all rested their hands on.
Upon Hisham's orders,
Imam Baqir's saddle were laminated deeply with the poison.
When the Imam mounted on his horse,
the strength of the poison, so severely able,
to bring an end to the fifth shining star's life.
Like the serpent's venom,
it spread throughout the Imam's body.
The day came, when Imam no longer replied to his son's cries.
The day, when Imam Baqir departed this world,
and joined his uncle Imam Hasan Al-Mujtaba,
and father, Imam Zainul Abideen in the forsaken soil of Baqi.
The scene dissolves as I cast my eyes at the green dome,
with the whisper echoing in my mind.
"Jabir, give my salaams to my Baqir .... "