‘There is no one but He’

Shaykh Mahmud Shabistari has described this reality in a very accurate and expressive way:

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From Shabistari’s English translation of Gulshan-i Rāz, (translated by E H. WHINFIELD, M.A. 1880)

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Kawthar

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Shrine of Sayyadah Massuma (a.s), Qum, Iran. A father looking at his daughter. Jan 2016

I have often wondered what it must be like to be a father,
To look at tiny hands clinging onto your fingers,
As if they were to these hands, the very meaning of Love.

I have often wondered, what it must be like,
To love one so much that your heart itself would be
Bewildered by the love it had secretly witheld thus far.

And whenever I would share these thoughts with him,
My brother would always smile and utter these words :
When you become a father, Reza. When you become a father…

And it so happened that my brother himself had a daughter,
And I became in one night, the uncle of an angel named Kawthar.
And that is the closest I have ever felt to becoming a father.

Kawthar,

Ever since you have rested your head peacefully on my chest,
My love, your uncle has never been able to breathe again,
As if forever longing to inhale, the fragrance of your soothing breaths,
As if each one of them came down like raindrops,
Bringing the rugged corners of my soul to life.

Kawthar,

Ever since I have held you in my arms and felt
The beating of your heart pulsating at the rythm of mine,
I have thought to myself, How can I let her go,
It is nearly time. My brother needs to sleep
And I have to go home. But, Kawthar, How can I leave you?
How can we part now. Now, that we had become one?

Kawthar,

There was a day when you were resting on my chest,
And you had started to bite me when about to fall asleep
I had felt the pain, but my face was smiling:
My love for you had won, and so my body had surrendered.

Kawthar,

I have indeed, often wondered what it must be like to be a father,
And now that I had felt a glimpse of that love,
When the time had come for me to part with you,
As I was holding onto the lightness of your being,
When calling for your father to help us part from each other

A sudden pain had taken over me, for my mind
Had busied itself, wandering in the alley of the greatest
Love that had ever existed between a father and daughter.

Kawthar,

As our paths had momentarily diverged, I had now started to ponder
What it must have been like to have been Hussein on the day of Ashura,
To have to part with Sakina. To have to die, before death had even come.

Kawthar,

I couldn’t sleep all night for I could still smell your fragrance on my neck
And whenever I did so, Hussain’s daughter would come to my mind.

Kawthar,

We have often met again and like every time we did,
You would walk towards me raising your hand
As if recognizing my beard and the fingers you trusted.

And whenever you did so, my love, I have thought of a child,
Lost, in a foreign land of desolation, a battlefield of pain,
Running aimlessly, forever looking for the hand
Whose shadow had always given her a reason to live.

Kawthar,

I have often wondered which one of two was the greatest,
The love of Hussain for his daughter Sakina,
Or the pain felt by Sakina when losing her father Hussain.

And as much as I have tried, I haven’t been able to answer this question.
And perhaps that is why, whenever I have met you again,

Kawthar,

My eyes have always shed two very different kind of tears,
One shed remembering a father’s love.
While the other remembering a daughter’s pain.

Kawthar,

I have often wondered what it must be like to be a father
To look at tiny hands clinging onto your fingers
As if they were to these hands, the very meaning of Love.

I have often wondered, what it must be like,
To love one so much that your heart itself
Would be bewildered by the love it had witheld thus far

And whenever I would share these thoughts with your father,
He would always smile and utter these words:
‘When you become a father, you will realize:
Hossein himself will teach you, Reza,
Hossein himself will teach you, Reza.’

Brotherhood or A father’s letter to his son

Dear peace of my heart,

I have been waiting for this moment to come from the day I have held you in my arms. I still remember the look of yours when you first hold my finger, clinging onto the only soul you trusted back then.

Ever since you have entered my life dear Son, I have always tried to learn from you as much as I have tried to teach you what I had learnt from my father. You have been a good son and by Allah I swear that I will stand on the day of reckoning as a witness over your deeds and will testify that you have always been kind to your mother and me and for that I will pray that Allah rewards you justly.

You are a successful young adult in the eyes of the world and you might not need any advice from an old man like me. You have seen many more landscapes than I did and have achieved in this life many more accomplishment than I ever wished to dream. You have turned into gold whatever you have touched and for that you should always be thankful to Allah.

However, despite being a mature individual, one that knows how to sail oceans of life, there are many, many lessons of life that you haven’t learnt yet, for they are not lessons that one learns in an academic setting.

Life, my son, is not as relatable as it seems. You have been blessed to have parents that cared about you and a family that looked over you, that stood before you whenever a hardship would befall over you to protect you and your faith from temptations they could not have handled back then. You have lived amongst your parents, in a house that was blessed by the remembrance of Allah and that in itself, has enabled you to blossom the way you did.

You are now about to leave Home, in order to acquire further knowledge and there is not greater pride for your mother and I to have a son like you, a son that wishes to act upon the Prophet’s saying (pbuh) to seek knowledge from the cradle to the grave.

As you embark on this journey of self-discovery, your mother and I would like to give you a piece of advice:

A moment will come in your life,
Perhaps, more than once,
Certainly, often enough,
When you will be lost,
You will be battled,
You will struggle to navigate
In these seemingly Shoreless Oceans.

You will look for yourself and for your Lord
But life will seem to you
Like a desert devoid of any meaning.

You will often drown,
People will come and go,
You will be questioned,
You will be tired,
And more importantly,
You will tested.

Hardships are a reward from God
And only a manifestation of his trust
And while these hardships will befall on you
And you alone,

Allah in his infinite compassion
Will bless you with a light,
That will guide in the darkest of nights.

My son,
Whenever you find yourself,
Lost, battled, drowning, buried and forgotten

And see a shining face,
Whose mercy reminds of Muhammad,

A helping hand,
Whose secrecy reminds you of Ali,

A sincere eye,
Whose patience reminds you of Hassan,

A radiant smile,
Whose certainty reminds you of Hussein,

A silent worshiper,
Whose prayer reminds you Al Sajjad,

An enlightened scholar,
Whose knowledge reminds of Al Baqir,

A voice whispering you secrets
Whose truthfulness reminds you of As Sadiq

A calmness of being,
Whose forgiveness reminds you of Al Kadhim

An undying love,
Whose generosity reminds of Ar Ridha

A certainty in faith,
Whose piety reminds of Al Jawad

A light of guidance,
Whose clarity reminds you Al Hadi

A content soul,
Whose hardships reminds of Al Askari,

And most importantly,
If you ever meet a patience,
Whose destiny reminds you of Al Mahdi,

If you ever meet such an individual my Son,
Be known that you will have just met the greatest gift of God.

Do not worry about finding this soul my son,
For wayfarers in the path of God are always looking for one another,

When you will meet this sincere heart,
Be known that he will look for you as much as
You will have looked for him.

He will be pleased to be in your company
As much as you will be pleased to be in his.

You will both rise together,
Forever unveiling shadows
That separate you from reaching
The light upon light.

I was blessed my son to have met
Many of these souls in life,
Sincere lovers of the prophets whose
Morality have always reminded me of Allah,
And whose conduct has always reflected the Quran.

When you will meet such a soul my son,
You will ask yourself how to call it.
Society will tell you to call it a friend,
A neighbor, an acquaintance,
A companion, a confidant,
Schoolmate, a classmate,
Or a study partner.

But deep within yourself,
You will hear the voice of a Lady,
Whose utmost purity,
No shrine could ever withstand.

Yes,
Az Zahra (pbuh) herself will speak to you
And will tell you,

That there is only once word
That unites in faith
All lovers of Hussein
Wherever they are
Whoever they are,
Whenever that is,
In the meantime,
In between time,
Forever and ever.

And the only word
That Allah himself has deemed
worthy to describe this bond
Is the word ‘Brother’

 

My only request regarding this letter, my dear son, is that you keep it with you and read it whenever you feel the need. And when Allah himself blesses you to become a Father, and your own progeny becomes as worthy as you are today, remember to teach them this truth, even if it is the last thing you will ever teach them.

I will leave you my dear Son, with these words of wisdom, hoping that you will meet in your quest, other sons of Zahra as you will come together and strive in the path of Allah while remembering The Hussain of your time.

Your loving Father,

Father.

I would like to dedicate this letter to all my brothers and sisters of the KLC family and more importantly to my esteemed teacher Dr Shomali whose dedication alone is an unspoken lesson of humilty. I have chosen the word ‘brother’ because it reflects better my own reality. However, ‘brother’ in this context is not restricted to the male gender as its essence can be found just as equally in sisterhood for sincere women wayfaring in the path of Allah.

Teach Me Patience, Mother

There are personalities whose lives never cease to give. They are like flowing rivers of wisdom, never stagnating, never still, and most importantly, always present and ready to shower your pain with love and warmth.

**

Mother,

I take refuge in the many folds of your love quietly residing in my heart.

I whisper your name,

Lost,

battled,

struggling to navigate in these seamingly shoreless oceans.

I am drowing, Mother,

I cannot breath,

There is no light,

And yet I whisper your name,

For I do not know other than yours,

A name carrying more resilience,

In both meaning and essence.

Mother,

Whenever alone,

and strugling against myself,

I have taken your pain,

as a symbol of hope,

For your pain has always thaught me,

That my strugle is sweet in the mirror of your life,

That my pain is honey in the garden of your devotion,

That my loneliness is a blessing, in the kingdom of your love.

**

Ya Zahra, words were written on your life. Poems were recited on your fate. Your name itself is enough Oh Mother, to bring peace to my heart and to tear it into pieces at the same time.

Amongst the many verses I have heard in your name, Mother, there is one line that has always brought my existence to a sudden end. I whisper this line and I drown, in your love, in your pain:

امشب پرستوی علی از آشیان پر می کشد
داغ فراق فاطمه آخر علی را می کشد

Tonight, the swallow bird of Ali (a.s) has flown away from its nest

The separation with Fatima, has finally taken Ali (‘s life)

They call you ‘Lady without a shrine’. But I swear by your name, you have a shrine in my heart.

The Story of Little Zahra and The Book of Destiny

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One the night of a long day
A girl named Zahra
Was reading stories of angels
From one of her favorite books
Which her mother had bought
When she was still very little

Zahra was waiting
For her father to come
And to count her stories
Of travellers of the sky

As she kept waiting for her
Father to come, she heard
A little noise from
The window of her room

When she stood up and lifted
The curtain, she saw
An angel waiting in the cold
And asking to come in

She opened the window
And let the angel in
And while the tired angel
Finaly got in the room
He thanked little Zahra
For her kindness and love

Little Zahra was curious
To know who this angel was
And why he had come
To her room on this night

‘Peace be upon you Oh angel,
My name is Zahra and I am
Waiting for my father to come
And to tell me a story’

‘Can you tell me who you are,
And why you came to visit me ?’

‘Peace be upon you little Zahra’
replied the angel with a smile

‘My name is Al Qadr
And I came here today
To tell you a little more
About the story of my name’

‘I am angel from the sky
That visits every child
On the night of their first fast
During the month of Ramadhan’

‘And since today was the first time
You fasted all day long
Allah has sent me to visit you
To hand you a gift
Which you will keep forever and ever’

And from behind his back,
The angel handed Zahra
A book which had on it written:
‘The story of little Zahra
written by herself’

The girl stared at the book,
And decided to open it
And when she realized its pages
Were all empty and blank
She looked at the angel and said :

‘This book is empty, Dear angel
It has nothing written on it
Nor does it have any drawing
How can this book be a story
if it is empty of words?’

The angel smiled at Zahra
And said to her in a soft voice:

‘This book is not an ordinary book
Little Zahra, for it represents
Your life and destiny
It is not a book that you will read my dear,
Rather it is a book that you will write yourself!’

The angel continued
Its talk and said:

‘Each one of us has one, 
And with ours smiles and 
Tears, we write on it
Every day and night’

Little Zahra stood up
And took a pen from her desk
And with a gentle stroke
Started writing on it:

‘Yeki book yeki nabood,
Gheyr az khoda kassi nabood’
‘Some were and some were not
God was there, when others were not’

But to her surprise
The pen did not write,
And the page remained blank

Zahra stood up again
And on an old drawing of hers
Tried to use the pen again

The pen was working fine,
As she drew a star
on this old piece of paper
And with much confusion
She shared her concern
With her new angelic friend:

‘Dear angel, this book is
somehow strange in nature.
My pen writes on old paper
But it doesnt on this book.

If I am the writer of this
Book of destiny,
Why does my pen stop
Whenever I try
to write on its page?’

The angel smiled at Zahra
And told her the secret
that made this book special:

‘This book is indeed
One that must be written.
And it is also true
That it is only yours 
And that You are
Its only writer.’

‘But the secret of this book
Is that you do not need a pen
To write on itself. The ink which
Will darken the color of its pages
Are nothing else than your actions
And thoughts alone and always’

Little zahra was confused
And did not understand what
The angel meant:

‘Do you mean dear angel
that my actions are the words and
The story of this book ?

Do you mean that
my behaviour alone will color 
the pages of my own destiny ?

‘You are right my little friend,
your actions are what will fill
this book with words.
And what you decide to do
Will shape the story of your life’

‘I have another question’
said little Zahra anxiously

‘Every book  to survive
Needs to be opened and read
Will there be anyone
who will read this book
Besides me?’

‘Yes’, said the angel

Just like your babajan reads
Stories to you at night, Allah gathers
All angels in the skies and reads to us
The stories of your lives’

And amongst all the books
Of destinies that exist
Allah only choses a few
To be read and remembered

‘And which are the books
which Allah choses to read
To angels in the skies ?’

The angel looked at Zahra
And said ‘ The books
Which tell stories
Of kindness and Love’

Little Zahra’s eyes

Got enlightened and asked:

‘Does that mean dear angel
That if I remain kind
My story will be read
By God to angels and stars?

The angel smiled at Zahra
And while looking at her
Shining eyes replied :

‘Yes my dear Zahra,
This is a promise from God:
Whenever the inhabitants of earth
are kind and remember Him
Allah himself gathers us 
And tells us to look 
At at the light of their faces’

‘But dear Angel,
I dont really know
How to be kind and loving’

‘What if I think I am doing
Something kind, but in fact
It is not something good’
Said Zahra waiting
for an answer
from the angel

‘How do I know what is
The best way to be kind
So that Allah reads
My story ever and ever’

The angel looked at Zahra
And from behind his wings
He handed her two lights
That together shined brighter
Than the moon at night

He opened Zahras hands
And gifted her these lanters

Zahra took each one of them
And felt an instant kindness
That took over her heart
And as she smiled to the angel

She asked her new friend
The name of these lights

‘These are two lights that God
Has sent on earth for you to understand
How to be kind like He wants,
How to know Him like He is.

One of them is the Quran
And the other is the Ahlul beyt
They will not separate
Till the very day 
When all books will
Be opened and read

We angel keep these lights
In our wings, for they make us
Fly, higher and higher.
But you should keep them
Alive In your eyes, so that they 
Enlighten every dark
Alleys of your life.

And If you follow these lanterns,
On every path you walk
You will shine on this earth
And we will see you from above

And God will gather us
To read your book of destiny
To other angels and stars.

And with these last words
The angel bowed down
In reverance and farewell
And disaperead in the skies
Until he became
As tiny as a star

When Little Zahra
Went back to her bed
Her father finally came
To count her stories
from her favorite book

And as he came closer
He realized that Little Zahra
Had long but gone asleep
with a book in her hand

He soon recognised
The book in her hand
For it ressembled the book
An angel had given him
On the night of his
First ramadhan fast

Zahra’s father stayed all night
Besides her daughter’s bed
Remembering his lord
with a smile on his face

For he had realized
while looking at her daughter
That shes was nothing else
But the most beautiful page
Of his own book of destiny.

تَنَزَّلُ الْمَلَائِكَةُ وَالرُّوحُ فِيهَا بِإِذْنِ رَبِّهِم مِّن كُلِّ أَمْرٍ ‘
‘سَلَامٌ هِيَ حَتَّى مَطْلَعِ الْفَجْرِ 

‘The angels and the Spirit descend therein by permission of their Lord for every matter. 
Peace it is until the emergence of dawn.’
The Noble Quran (97:4,5)

The Story of Little Mahdi and the Tree

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On the night of a full moon
A child with shining eyes
Was walking up the hill
Leading to the street of Iman

While whispering stories
Of lights that once shined
Of kindness and smiles
He uttered few words
That had travelled for years
Across lands and seas

‘Yeki Bood Yeki Nabood
Gheyr Az Khoda, Kasi Nabood’

As the child was passing by
An old tree heard his footsteps
And woke up from his sleep
And smiled at the boy.

The three bowed down in reverence
And waived at this innocent soul
Whose curious eyes kept looking
At the trees swaying beard

‘Peace be upon you little one’
Said the tree to his new friend
‘I am sure such a blessed child,
Must have a blessed name’

The boy was shy but smiled
To the stranger he had just met
And although he did know the tree
He remembered his mother’s words
Not to leave salutations of peace
To ever remain unanswered
So he stopped next the tree and said:

‘Peace be upon you too, Mr tree,
My blessed name is Mahdi
It is written the way it sounds,
With an M like Mother.
My name is just like me,
It is from a distant land,
None of my friends know its meaning
Nor the story behind it’

The aged tree smiled and with
Its branch took the child closer
And while offering him
One of its ripest berries to eat
He asked the boy to count him
The story of his name

The boy sat on the top
Of the tree’s curving lap
And with the name of God
Started to share with the tree
The long story of his name:

‘Yeki Bood, Yeki Na bood,
Gheyr Az Khoda, Kassi Nabood’
‘Some were, and Some were not.
God was there, when others were not’

And when the moon and the sun
Both were still resting
In the cradle of creation
Allah created ‘Nur’
And the light upon light
And from its finest rays
God molded five stars
And named them Muhammad and Ali
Fatimah, Hassan, and Hussain the last one

The boy continued the story
And said that ‘each light gave birth
To a new light, so that the world
Would always have two suns
One shining in the skies
And one walking on the earth’

The boy started counting
Looking at his fingers
And said to himself
While looking in the skies

The brightest of all stars
Is resting in Madina
And so is his daughter
The queen of all lights,
Along four of her sons,
All buried in Baqi.

The Prince of the believers
Is shining in Najaf
Whereas the king of the hearts
Rests in peace in Karbala

Two of Zahra’s sons, together
Have bloomed in the city of Kadhmain.
While two others are standing
Facing the winter of Samarah

Another one of her progeny
Came as a stranger in Tus
Until he became, the King of Khorassan

The boy continued and said
‘Al Mahdi is the name of
The last and the fourteenth
Of the Godly created lights
That is still shining on the earth
As other have all returned
To the light, which gave, them birth

When the child was done counting
The journey of his name,
A journey of lights
The tree remained silent
And looked at the child
While combing his beard
With a branch of wisdom

He then asked the boy a question
About the story of his name:

‘If Mahdi is the name,
Of a star that enlightens
The earth and its people
Shouldn’t the light of this star
Be known by every heart
That has also witnessed
The majesty of the sun,
And the peace of the Moon?

The boy started thinking
And did not know what to answer

If the Mahdi was the name
Of the walking sun on earth
Why was it so, that only few eyes
Were looking for his light?

When the tree realized
That the child was silent
He brought the boy closer
And whispered in his ears

‘From his existence we benefit,
Like radiant sun,shining behind a cloud’

The boy remained silent
And suddenly smiled
Realizing the truth
Behind the story of his name

And while he embraced the tree
Thanking him for his answer
The boy became curious
And asked a question in return

‘I thank you Mr. tree,
I thank you dearly,
But I have a question,
That remains unanswered:

I don’t understand how
You know about my name
Much more Than I do,
That you know about Al Mahdi
Much more than I do?

The tree hugged the boy
Even more and said

‘Remember that Al Mahdi
Is a blessing for All,
For the progeny of Adam
As much as the progeny of djinn

He is a Blessing for trees,
and flowers alike
He is a blessing for
Every creation on earth

From the tiniest stone buried
In the palm of your hand

To the most majestic mountains
Neighboring the skies

And if you listen carefully
To the songs of the birds
While they unfurl their wings

To the sound of raindrops
Gently caressing the earth

To the whispers of roses
When sensing the coming spring

To the cracking of branches
When conversing with the wind

You will hear that each one of them
Has one name in their heart
The name, which you carried
From the day you were born

For tonight is the night
That splits Shaban in half
The night when in a distant land
The last of its kind was born’

The boy remembered the lesson
And bid farewell to the tree
Both parted with peace and blessing
On the light upon light
And their best reflections on earth

And while he was walking up the hill
Leading to the city of love
The boy stopped one last time
And said, looking at the tree

‘I have told you my name
But forgotten to ask yours.
How shall I call you from now?
Tell me your blessed name?

The tree smiled at the boy
And whispered in the wind
The name he had been
Concealing all along

The boy never forgot
The name of his new friend
And as the moon was shinning
Brighter and brighter in the sky
Little Mahdi had just met,
A tree called ‘Intezar’*

*Intezar means The Waiting

Before your love

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Shrine of Imam Ali (a.s) Najaf (Irak). Picture taken from Instagram

Ya Mawla,

I wonder if it even fair
To ask myself who I was
If ever anything I was.
Before I met you,
before I loved you.

I wonder how to call this state
When one is just a scattered possibilty,
When a human being is just
The random aggregation
Of barely pulsating dust

I wonder how to call this state
When eyes perceive nothing more
Than a twinkling candle’s light
Fading in the depths
of its existence’s vicinity

I wonder how to call a life
When air means survival
Where water is stagnant
Where love’s fragrance does not exist.

I wonder how to call this existence
When your wings are just an attire
When your cage becomes your world
When flying is a word, unfurling just a sound

I wonder how to call a vein
Whose blood does not circumbulate
Like a pen that does not spiral
Like brush that does not strike

I guess it is not fair
To say that I existed
That my tongue tasted life
Before it whisphered your name

I guess it is not fair
To call this piece of flesh a heart
Before it started beating
Before it met your gaze

And if a bird is a bird
Only when it flies
Just like a wave is alive
Only when it crashes

I guess I was only that which one is,
When one is not, whatever that is

I was Nothing.

I guess I was the space which one takes
When one is not, wherever that is

I was Empty

I guess I was the time which one spends
When one is not, whenever it is

I was Absent

This.

This is what i was,
If ever antyhing I was,
Before I met you,
Before I loved you.

End.

*Peace be upon you,
The uprooter of hidden polytheism,
The distinguished and learned,

Ali,

The Prince of the Faithful
(*Ziarat Nahya).

And never read again

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In the tenderest of night
Of the winter that passed
A hopeful letter had met
A pair of waiting eyes

Its words had stared
Patiently under the sky
The silence had been long
But not all indifferent

When stars twinkled
From afar, and as the day
Began to break
The letter unveiled itself

With shades of days that went by
Of stories of the fall
Of laughters of spring
And prayers of a cold night

While the parchment bled
And let ita fragrance waft
The wall stood strong
And the wind kept blowing

Beneath an empty sky
As the letter walked away
Words written kept lying
Where fallen leaves were buried

The letter had learnt by the wall
A lesson it wrote on itself
That there’s nothing one can do
About what has been written
And never read again

The King of Khorassan

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In few days, I will embark in a journey of Wayfaring and self discovery that will inshallah take me back to the land of Imam Reza (a.s) in Mashhad.

Conscious of the fact no light can enter a heart darkened by strokes of a self woven ego, a soul filled with grudges and heavied by resentment, I request everyone of you to forgive me for any unkind word that I might have uttered, or any behavior that would make my imam disapprove of my presence in his holy abode.

You will all be in my thoughts and prayers. If you have any specific request I will be more than humbled to convey them. Needless to say that if you need anything from Iran, be it a book, a flying carpet, a magical ring or just the regular sohan halva/zaffron combination, I will try my best to fulfill your wish. 

I will finish with a poem written for Imam Reza:

The King of Khorassan
Ya Ar-Ridha! How can you be the Stranger of Tus
When every Soul I met called you the King of Khorasan

How can you be ‘Al Gharib’ – The stranger
And Yet inspire every soul passing by your shrine

Ya Imam, how can you be known as the loneliest of the twelve
And yet, your name is the cure for our utmost sollitude

Ya Mawla, My greatest wealth, is to be named after you
My greatest achievement is to have sent blessings upon you

My heart longs to sit besides you, in the mosque of GoharShad
To be able to gaze at your shrine while whispering those words

On a blessed Thursday night, My heart and my tears together united
Would join millions of others, on your gate, Ya bab al Hawaej

My love for you is so deeply entangled with my soul ;
That my blood circumbulates my heart at the rythm of your name

Each of my tear carries an unspoken prayer
Each of my breath writes in the wind my last will

I want to sail on the oceans my eyes have shed on our separation
Like flying petals I want to be carried towards your gardens ya Imam

My spirit is entranced as I dream of the golden dome
Like a wandering fragrance aching for the flower it came from

The Light of His Name.

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Writing had this effect on me. It healed the pain and revealed to my heart the light it had unknowingly ignored all along.
Writing had this effect on me. Whenever my soul bled, my pen would hover over the parchment and transform red and burning blooddrops into dark and cold spirals.
Writing had this effect on me. Whenever my heart’s wounds would open, the soft tapestry of my notebook would carefully embrace its bleeding cut, as if drinking from a fountain of sorrows.
Writing had this effect on me. Whenever my heart would empty itself from its deafening rivers, I would recite one of his names, and light would enter from the very wound that had been bleeding all along.
His names had this effect of me. It turned blood into ink, and ink into light. It turned a dying and feeble candle into an eternal shining sun.