I’ve never actually noticed how beautiful the dawn really is.
A fusion of coloured hues fading out into another tomorrow.
I can’t help but remember Husayn (a.s) every time I lay eyes on the inky streaks of crimson that bathe the sky.
Softly fading away into a warm pinkish glow, verily death is sweeter than honey.
Ya Sayyed ash Shuhada, your blood marks the rise of every tomorrow, and the demise of every today.
May I be sacrificed for your cause, O’ beloved of the Beloved.
My brain is whirling, thoughts compiled disorderly, a feverish feeling engulfing me.
I feel as if the distinction between my abilities and my capability is heightening.
Who am I? Where am I going?
I reflect upon these questions upon the cessation of sound.
The dusky charcoal sketches painting images in the labyrinth of my mind.
I am sick of these visions. I am sick of these worries.
Gentle whispers of the coiling wind, a spiral of liberation
I peered up at the bleak sky, the bitter snowflakes of freedom
Tumbling onto the streets, the first snowfall of twenty-ten
Preoccupied with selfish tendencies, my heart skipped thoughts of you.
Huddled on the floor, suffocating on threads of misery and despair,
Mesmerised by the microcosm of pain, I languished, wearily, that winter
Your presence seemed a distant past, a century of cherished memories burnished in my mind,
The sentiments were morbid, wistful unexpressed words obscured my vision
I remember four words, they catalysed the tears.
I was not with you, that winter, of twenty-ten.