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The Opening to All Calamities

The Opening to All Calamities

The Late Religious Authority Sayyid Abul Hasan al-Isfehani with a heart felt poem about the tragedy of our dear Lady Fatima Zahra [pbuh]

The Opening to All Calamities

 

 

 

 

 

Editor’s Note: The following eulogy for Lady Fatima Zahra (peace be upon her) is originally in Arabic and was written by the late Religious Authority Sayyid Abul Hasan al-Isfehani (d. 1361 AH). It appeared in his collection of poems entitled Al-Anwar Al-Qudsiya.

Her calamity, the opening to all calamities,
Was what she went through at the door,
For the talk about that door is surely grievous
Due to what the hands of betrayal committed.
Did the foes really assault
The House of Guidance,
The landing place of Revelation,
The center of all bliss?
Was the fire they did ignite
At her house’s door
And the Sign of Noor
Overwhelms it with light?
Her door is the door of the Prophet
Of mercy, the Prophet of salvation
Of this very Nation.
Nay! Her door is the door of
The most High, the most Exalted.
As though Allah’s Countenance was manifested.
With that fire they gained nothing but shame
After which there will be that of the Fire of Hell.
How ignorant some people are!
The fire burns not the Noor of Allah!
The most Exalted, the most Sublime!
But the breaking of the rib has none to repair
Except with the sword of one of might and power.
What wrenched those sacred ribs was a calamity
None like it in all eternity.
From the spring of blood that gushed out of her chest
Can one tell what she suffered, through what she went.
They transgressed all limits when they
On the cheek slapped her, may
The hand of oppression God paralyze.
And still remains the redness of her eyes
Of the eyes of knowledge can only remedied

By white swords when the banner is spread.
And the whips have a sound of dreariness
Hear by Time, lacking any happiness.
Remains, like a bracelet, the mark
On the wrist of al-Zahra’ that was so dark
A most strong of any argument.
From the blackness of her arm the cosmos
Was blackened, O Arm of Allah! O Imam al-Murtada!
How the sword’s scabbard was on her side planted
Bringing to memory all what to her happened.
I know not the story of the nail,
So ask the Custodian of all secrets.
In the womb of glory things that
Cause the inside to bleed.
Can they really hide
What is known and wide?
What about the door, the wall, the blood?
True witnesses which none can hide.
The criminal committed against her son
His crime the like of which is none.
So mountains were crushed
Upon hearing her wailing, though hushed.
Is this how the Prophet’s Daughter should be treated
Running after power, how wondrous it is!
Should one a grieved, saddened woman keep,
For fear of slander, forbidding her to weep?
By Allah! She ought to shed tears of blood
As long as the earth remains and the world
For having lost the dear one, her great father
For her oppression and for insulting her protector.

Should the inheritance of the Truthful One
Become free for all and her legacy
From the very best of creation?
How could one call her statement a lie
For it will be one’s answer to the verse
Of Purification…?
Should the faith be learned from a bedouin
Leaving aside the one referred to in the Book?
Thus they confiscated what she did own
Committing the extreme in calamity.
Woe upon them! They asked for a proof
Contrary to the clearly defined Sunnah!
And their rejection of those who did testify
Is the greatest testimony to what we clarify.
Filling the gaps was not coincidental
Nay! They closed hers and the Murtada’s door.
They turned away from the truth and did close
Its door, as though they were secure against its retribution.
Should part of the Greatly Purified one
Be buried at night, her grave unknown to man?
She was not buried at night and secretly
except because she was with the oppressors angry.
Nobody heard that she could ever thus be
In esteem unrecognized, her grave unknown to you and me.
Woe unto them from the Wrath of the Great One
For having oppressed the flower of the Chosen One

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