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