Poetry

1,001 Tears

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1,001 Tears

 We shed 1,001 Tears for all the suffering of the martyrs and survivors of the Tragedy of Karbala, yet does our mourning transform our lives and character?

1,001 Tears

 

 

 

 

 

 With 1,001 Tears I cry for you Ali Akber, in your youth you sacrificed your life with tremendous fervor.
Yet when there exist so many majlis, books, and lectures to learn from, do I sacrifice time? Never.

With 1,001 Tears I cry for you Ali Asghar, you were so thirsty and pure.
But I can’t finish my meal and drink, it’s so easy for me to trash it without God’s fear.

With 1,001 Tears, I can’t bear hearing another majlis about my Lady Zainab’s hijab that the tyrants tore.
However, I remain scared as to what people will think if I wear hijab to work – it may be best to just leave it at the door.

With 1,001 Tears, I come to every majlis dressed in black.
But to the Adhan’s call, I turn my back.

With 1,001 Tears, I recall the bravery of Hazrat Abbas. His unfaltering loyalty was to the end.
Only if I had the courage to proudly bear my Musim identity, but society is more important, I wouldn’t want to offend.

With 1,001 Tears, I admire Imam Hussain’s forgiveness when Hazrat Hurr decided to change sides.
But I still hold a grudge against that momina who wouldn’t give me home any rides.

With 1,001 Tears, on the day of Ashura Imam Hussain was surrounded by his enemies, without help and a dry tongue he fought to the last.
But aside from Ramadan, when I know there are certain mustahab days, I choose not to fast.

With 1,001 Tears, my eyes swell while the speaker describes Hazrat Qasim’s body being trampled under horses.
Yet, in today’s time, I continue to remain silent witnessing world oppression by brutal forces.

With 1,001 Tears, I can’t imagine what condition Imam Zainal Abideen faced under a high fever and wrapped up in chains!
But what does Fatima Zahra (as) think knowing my hands are free to pray, yet I didn’t? What a shame, and how much for her it pains.

With 1,001 Tears, I lament as Sakina is overcome in grief by the death of her father.
But extending respect or assistance to my elderly, do I even bother?

With 1,001 Tears, in shock, I wonder how Imam Hussain’s followers in Kufa could so easily betray?
But wait – am I amongst those hypocrites who call themselves Shias and attend azadari, but in implementing knowledge into action I astray?

With 1,001 Tears, Fatima Sughra awaits in Medina only to learn the Prophet’s household has been destructed, engulfed in sadness she must’ve reacted.
But as I wait for Imam of our time, how much do I yearn for his return? Yet time and time again I am distracted.

With 1,001 Tears, all the while grateful to Allah, our Bibis are dragged, whipped, and slapped in the streets of Kufa and Shaam.
But after hearing the last majlis of Shaam-e-Ghariba, peacefully, I hop into bed and when Fajr comes, I snooze my alarm, why get up when I can relax so calm.

With 1,001 Tears, Bibi Zainab visits the grave of her mother and with tears in her eyes, she exclaims: “My mother, look at what has happened to my house!”
With 1,001 Tears, Imam-e-Zamana (atf) remains in hiding and says: “O my Shias, what has happened to your imaan?”

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