On the Threshold of the Great Parting
When a person loses a beloved, it is a momentous affliction. When one loses a brother, the tragedy is monumental. When one loses a son, the calamity is absolute. What manner of catastrophe, then, befell Al-Aqeelah Zaynab on the Day of Ashura?!
What parting is this? O Hussain… What parting is this, whose caravan chime is the lashes of executioners, surrounded by the blades of swords, perfumed by the scent of blood, and chanted for by the gasps of weeping?
What parting is this, which served as the ultimate realization of your profound yearning for your ancestors, who were granted the Eternal Abode in a seat of truth near a Sovereign Omnipotent?
What parting is this, which fulfilled the words of truth you proclaimed in the heavens of the Divine Sanctuary, echoing across its horizons with a longing akin to that of Jacob for Joseph—after separation grew long, and the yearning of memories deepened the wound?
What parting is this—my dear brother Hussain—while the wolves of the wilderness have severed your limbs, and their hollow bellies remain unslaked… out of malice and vileness?
Let me—my dear brother Hussain—kiss your neck, upon which the blades of fate have etched their final word, crowning you with the loftiest medals of martyrdom.
Can your shattered limbs beneath the hooves of horses ever fill my embrace, just as your body once filled the embrace of our mother, Al-Zahra? Can the warmth of your gaze ever return, so I may read peace within it, and close my eyes upon it in tranquility?
Far be it from my eyes to close, while the dust of Karbala refuses but to rest upon my eyelids! Far be it from me to taste the sweetness of sleep hereafter, while the embers of Al-Taff have ignited my sleeplessness!
What parting is this, while I leave my soul to choose: shall I grieve over your tragedy, or endure it in agonized patience? Yet, I remembered that tender testament: “Be patient, O solace of my eyes, and do not tear your garment for me. As long as I hold a place within your heart, keep your radiant face pure from the scratches of despair or the bleeding blows of grief.”
So I endured, and endured, and endured, beholding you as you stood entirely alone… Your eyes were gazing into the unseen realms, opening upon a thousand and one wounds. Your wound was bleeding tears for the strayed souls, over a thousand wildernesses of wandering lost behind the folds of time.
And your hands—oh, what bounty that brings down the rain! From which the thirsty drink—those who point toward the downpour in the eagerness of their quest. O thirsty seekers of truth, where do we run? And what does the soul possess of the yearnings of light?
For awareness possesses a cry of hunger, groaning with the sorrow of the famished; it opens its mouth, yearning for the secret hidden deep behind the caves.
Alone you stood… while within your eyes, blood infused the air, just as roses in the splendor of spring scatter their fragrance. The blood of martyrdom—which crafts the blossoms, to plant a rose of the Divine Message in every generation.
So that the caravan may march on, tracing the path of dignity for the sake of glory, embracing the spirit of chivalry with love. And in the tomorrow of truth, lies a thousand hopes.
At the dawn, the call of “the best of deeds” resounds, while you cry out: “O believers… come unto me! For within my words lies the secret of life, and within my footsteps is the path of salvation.”
And upon the rhythm of your footsteps, I walk—my dear brother Hussain—for I bear witness that you are the Lamp of Guidance and the Ark of Salvation.
