I am the bitter story dying to be told
I am the symphony playing to your yearning heart calling it home
Come out of your corpse and bleed with me once more
Look away from the cracked mirror of your world
Settle your eyes on the images transcending time
No need to rehearse your tears for they will find their way
As they travel through the path of my ten nights and days
I express myself through the sadness of the voices
I plant myself in poetry, sowing my seeds with every verse
My ink is the screams of those angels orbiting earth
Infecting paper like venom’s deathly whisper in the veins
Hunting words and placing them on the throne of surrendered hearts
Crowning peasants and toppling tyrants all in one breath
I am the hieroglyphs in the minds of revolutionaries
When they stand outnumbered his memory gives them strength
I am the question of the riddle asked by the spears
I am its answer hidden beneath his eye filled tears
I am the room divided by days accepting his guests
For Fatima I am the house of sorrow built
I am the season that flowers bend and wilt
In his love eternally
I am the yearly water that will quench his thirst
Tearing the barriers between the metaphysical and physical earth
What is philosophy when a tear is worth an ocean in another realm?
What is love that it finds itself manifested in tears?
I am the envy of the days as I carry his memory within my arms
Just as the moon found himself lucky that day
Under the mazes of nightfall lost in the land of Karbala
Torn between reflecting the sun or the son of Ali
For what surface is as bright as the surface of his heart?
And what day can transcend the years like his?
I am Ashurah.