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During the days of Muharram, when I go the local center at night, I wish, time and time again, that I was in Kerbala. When the nawhas are being recited, I close my eyes, and imagine what it would’ve been like on the day of Ashura. In the land, that, today, is filled with visitors from all over the world, to pay tribute to the Imam who sacrificed everything he had to give us the gift of Islam that we have today.
I imagine a brave warrior holding a flag, and riding to fetch water for his niece, knowing he may not make it back.
I imagine a glowing aura standing in the middle of a desert, stating his last will and going forth to fight bravely, knowing that not too long after, his blood will be mingled with the sands of the holy land.
Me’raj-ul-Mo’min
The time has come for me to pray,
I set aside my work and play
To the prayer room I make my way
To perform that which will bring success in my day
Ablution I do, to purify within
Wash my face, asking God to hid my sin
Wipe my arms pleading to Him sincere
Receiving my book of deeds in the left, I fear
The last I do before I stand to pray
Is wipe my feet, God don’t let me sway
Let the places I enter be pure and clean
Not places that are rejected by my Deen
How time flies, when you sit and think
of someone who has left this world.
How the days pass, but the memories don’t fade,
they just replay in your mind.
Let me rewind the tape,
back to the days, when you were still alive…
Grandfather, do you remember the times….
When you would sit back, and smile
as you watched your grandchildren play.
When, occasionally you would walk on the grass
enjoying the wonderful day.
As the last days of 1430 pass us by, we, along with thousands of other Muslims worldwide, prepare for the coming of the New Islamic Year. But this preparation is not one of joy and celebration, rather one of grief and sorrow. It is a reminder for us, that as the new moon is sighted and the 1st of Muharram sets in, we are no longer alone in the Imambargah and in the remembrance of the Tragedy of Aba Abdillah, Hussain Ibne Ali (a.s.). Rather, we are going to be in the company of that sad mother of Imam Hussain (a.s.), whose name is Fatema Zahra (a.s.).
It was this Fatema Zahra (a.s.) who was concerned about the commemoration of the tragedy of Kerbala, ever since Imam Hussain (a.s.) was born. When she asked her father, when she was told about the Martyrdom of her son, as to whether there will be anyone to mourn him, to cry over him, to shed tears over her son’s death, the Prophet wept and said to her, “Fatema, I shall not be alive, Ali will not be there, Fatema, even you will not be there, Hassan will not be there.”
There are tears rolling down my cheeks
tears of blood
there’s a wretched feeling in my heart
a grip so tight
I can’t bear it
am I heading the right way?
somewhere in the walk of life
I think I took a wrong turning
is it too late to go back
and set things straight?
While the rest of the world is deep in slumber
my soul begs me to pray
I put my forehead to the ground
and let the tears flow
there is only One who will understand me
and to Him alone I turn
A prayer I whisper, only for Him to hear
the wretched feeling eases
the grip slowly lets go
assurance spreads through my heart
and comfort blankets my soul
It is the remedy for all I feel
prostrating to my Beloved
It is a remedy for everything
Having faith in my Creator