I’m trying to imagine being in one of those under siege households…
I watch…
A letter…
Written by a governor…
Read by a son…
Promising safety…
And security…
Do not help the traitors…
Behind these promises…
Sensing something ominous…
He can’t just stand here and accept…
Must take those steps…
As I watch as him pace back and forth…
Much like I would…
As we are not saints…
Humans full of flaws…
Torn between dunya and akihra…
(He says) I must depart…
But not without your ijaza…
Dear mother…
I hear the rumblings in this city…
Muslim ibn Aqeel has disappeared…
Has his call fallen on deaf ears…
Not another word…she says…
Our love for the Ahulul-Bayt…
Transcends this time and space…
Go…
Take your place among the righteous…
I will wait to see you again…
What can be said about a mother’s love…
For her son…
And the divine path towards Allah…
But his fate would be different…
Caught in the throes of a police state…
A knock on his door…
With a response of absolute faith…
Labbaik Ya Hussain…
As they take him away…
His fate would not be on those blessed plains…
With certain scribes sullying his faith…
However his angels know better…
As they record his deeds…
His mother knows better…
As she bears witness…
To the son she helped shape…
His Imam knows better…
His Creator knows all…
And I now know too…
His and many others truths…
As I depart…
Take one last look at the River Euphrates…
As it calls out to me…
Back to the present…
I among many…
Will continue to tell your story…
Silent Scholar 