Patience.

All the idols had fallen

And all the people had gathered

And all from each rooftop

They called out his name.

While they were jostling for a place

While they were striving for his grace

While they charged themselves with joy

While they clung on to what they could

He said “No Messenger has seen grief like mine”

Though Moses would have the calf

Though Jacob would lose his sight

Though the Baptist would lose his head

Though Luqman would shuffle in shackles

Though Noah would suffer curses

Though all these torments would come

To the Givers and Seekers before him

As each proved "God is with the patient"

He said “No Seer has seen grief like mine”

They could not know what he knew

That orphaned twice and widowed

The people would not let him be

The people would spill his blood

The people would poison his sons

The people would raze his house

The people would turn his words

And make him one of the people.

He said “No one will see grief like mine”

I see Saqi, the Archangels’ wings,

Hung like the willow

As he tells you these things.

Askar

I see kings and warriors, Saqi

Emblems of the people,

Held up and called upon

As if this is some victory

It matters little, Saqi, so far

For those we have sought

Hold power between their fingers

Yet wait patiently behind bars.

Though forced to crouch in cells,

They raise their hands, in thanks,

Ask for mercy so water may pour

In the people’s drought stricken wells

Here is where Kauthar rains

Here, in our Askari lament

Not the lush reams of silver

Or the terror tyrants maintain

And even as the poison cuts its way,

Choking, and churning through

Twenty eight long torn years

I only, hear Kauthar, in what Askari says.

By Ali A. Naqvi

Folded

Muslims say to me "What you do is out of the fold of Islam."

No matter.
I am wrapped in the folds
Of Suqqaina's burning dress.,
Itself folded in dread
While the little body it wraps
Runs and runs to Kufa,
Calling for her grandfather,
Her plees pursed to her lips,

"Where were you when Ammu fell?
Where was your sword when father fell?"

I am stretched and
scorched with those folds.
Let me ask you, Muslim,
Where were you when those
Folds were lambent
Weeping with me
Or carrying the flame?

Where are the Muslims
When her father falls?

By Ali.A.Naqvi

Railing.

Saqi. This is displacement.
On this night, the tenth night,
I am rattling awake
Half fuzzed out, half wired
I should be elsewhere
... But you deny me
So I sit splayed out
Waiting for the tears.

By Ali.A.Naqvi

Seeing Sajjad

They say that you never slept
Always supplicating and seeking
And when given water wept
Always ruminating and reliving.
If we had been in that moment
Then we would have to grasp
Shards of sanity through torment
While our throats rasped,
With dry cries of madness,
Striving to claw ourselves more,
Ashamed at our weakness
Embittered, maybe, at the Creator.

We ask:

“Could we be expected to hold to our worth,
here, cramped in the dark, with wails of hurt,
the degradation and the fear,
the powerlessness, the uselessness, the utter, utter
futility?

Could we forgive, those taunts, though our tears, those mocking jeers
Barrelling round the cell walls, that spite and the constant
Loathing and lascivious leering?”


But you are not us, this is evident.
You formed yourself into submission
Hurled your broken bones down
And let His mercy smooth them out,
And made that mercy flow, through
Your hands, to hands that speared your love.
Thus, when Worship wishes to be known
It looks around and calls you mentor
Thus, when Attainment wishes to rise,
It asks you to give it flight.
Though all titles are grand,
And all men raise themselves taller,
You, Sajjad, and your whispered prayers
Show giving all
Is gaining all.

by
Ali.A.Naqvi

The Damascus Road

This road is well travelled,
Saul became Paul here
Struck off his horse
Overcome with awe and fear.
The Baptist’s head came this way
Hung, possibly, like Abbas
In the bridle of a rider,
Ashamed as his Sisters pass.


This is the Pilgrim’s road
Where Baheera’s people file,
Symbols and incense swinging
But their icons are crying too,
As they cross the dispossessed
And the candles lose their wick,
The choirs’ hushed of voice
Faced with the suffering sick


And wasn’t this ancient road,
Path of all those Prophets?
Ask if it has seen such pilgrims
Cower under constant cruel threats
Led by a shattered slip of a soul
Ask Abraham if he could see
This scourging of innocence
Ask Yaqoob how blind he would be.


This will become the Pilgrims’ road
With each scrape of shackle and chain,
With each whip crack and slap,
With bleeding cut and sweat stain
That we will walk in our minds
Because this road will claim
Suqqaina’s life, and Zainab’s hope.
This is a Hajj, we do in Sajjad’s name.


By Ali. A. Naqvi

Notes:
I think I may need to add some context to some of the imagery.

1) The road to Damascus, in English is a metaphor for transformative change and repentance.

2) The most evident example of this is the Saul , who chief persecutor of Christians, who the changed to Paul after "seeing the light" - which is also where the metaphor comes from. From the New Testament:

"And as he journeyed, it came to pass that he drew nigh unto Damascus: and suddenly there shone round about him a light out of heaven: and he fell upon the earth, and heard a voice saying unto him, Saul, Saul, why persecutest thou me? .....And Saul arose .... his eyes were opened..and they led him by the hand, and brought him into Damascus...".— Acts 9:3–9

3) The Damasucs road and the road to Nineveh feature prominently in the journeys of various Prophets in the Torah and the Quran.

4) Byzantine Christians, and probably Baheera's people used the same route to go on Pilgrimage accross the Middle East. a comment pilgrims procession had singing , Iconography - sometimes miracles of Weeping Saints/Mary and incense burners carried with it. This is the reference to Baheera's people

5) According to Shia Hadith , every Prophet that crosses the path to Nineveh/Iraq feel a great sadness and torment when doing so and is the told about what is to unfold at Kerbala with the murder of Hussain.

6) Both Abraham and Yaqoob ( Jacob) had to undergo sacrifices that meant watching their loved ones suffer, or great loss, in all Abrahamic traditions. In Islamic tradition Yaqoob goes blind with weeping because of the loss of one son - Ali Ibnal Hussain is quoted as replying to followers who wantd to know when he would stop mourning his loss "You are being unjust - Yaqoob lost his sight becuase he lost one son and the son was returned. We have lost almost all our sons and they were not returned to us."

Sughra Watches

So Sughra, what do you strain for

Perched on the walls watching,

Slowly rubbing your feet sore

As you kick away the frustration?

Those crows will not become flags.

Those Jinn spinning dust in the sands,

That straining beast laden with bags,

Don’t belong to your caravan

I see you crane that trembling frame,

Squinting at blots on the horizon,

Stuck to the sides in pain,

Drawn out by longing.

What will you do Sughra,

When that grand caravan

Withers back to you

Shorn of its glories like a shell

With its pearl shaken out?

What will you do Sughra,

When you find bosoms empty

And grooms ground dead,

Leaving widows that sway

As the black swallows them?

What will you do Sughra

When you run from old face

To old face, aged by fear

Looking for a brother to place

His powerful arms around you?

What will you do Sughra

When all those dreams you waxed,

Wane into horror as you search

For a father left desolate

And desecrated in the desert?

What will you do Sughra,

When you see the rope burn,

The collars’ brand on the flesh

And the stoops of so many

Broken backs shuffling slowly forward?

What will you do Sughra,

When you find no cradle,

No prattle from toddlers,

No four year old sister,

Only mothers stuttering in the sun?

Look no more Sughra,

There is no caravan today,

It lies burnt in the far far

Furnace of Nineveh.

Look no more, as even now,

Removed from your imminence

I, Sadiq, know not how

I can see it myself.

By Ali. A. Naqvi