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.

Clouded Vision

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.