An orphan is the name of a child who lost his mother,
But what is the name of a mother who loses a child?
Crushed between the door and the wall along with the souls of Hassanain,
Robbed of her child, her right, her husband's, she fights through the pain.
Her name is Fatima. The one whose essence mankind will never reach,
For God Himself has shielded her with a protection that none can breach,
Mistress of my soul and the women of the worlds,
With her name and her hand the secret of this life unfurls,
The strength of my heart and the strength of Haidar,
The strength of the lion who conquered Khaybar,
For who else can converse with such beauty and power,
Fight the usurpers after the loss of Mohsen, the wilted flower?
Her name is az-Zahra, the radiant light, illuminating a path,
For those who want to see and be away from God's wrath,
For he who angers az-Zahra has evoked the Messenger's displeasure,
And no doubt, God's own wrath which follows is that beyond any measure,
For who is so aligned with the will of her Creator,
Which woman did He create, that other than her there is no greater?
Her name is al-Batool, unsurpassed in every way,
Be it the chastity, the virtue, or the worship she did display,
No man equalled her strength the day she fought her right,
Look around you now- see the destruction of Fatima's might.
For which woman could have such eloquence and knowledge of the Book?
Fadak was hers then and now, no matter what they took.
Quoting the verses to them that were revealed to her very door,
Every lie, every plot of theirs and tactic, into shreds she tore.
For she is as-Siddiqa, the truthful, no matter who calls himself this too,
A name is just a name but the truth lies in what we do,
Ali is with the truth, truly this is no lie,
And the truth is with Ali, but she will shortly die,
Leaving behind a house that is both so full and bare,
Full of Ali's grief, but of a mother's warmth, left bare,
A homely nest no more, for its mother is no longer,
A house that used to buzz with life, now remains mourning and sombre.
Hassan holds her feet and Hussain cries on her chest,
An imagine after which the heart of Ali will never find rest,
Zainab and Kulthum sob as they await the darkness of night,
One final farewell they crave before facing a new plight.
And Ali...? A broken man, half a human, dealt his biggest blow,
He sits with his head in his hands, and tears of anguish now freely flow.
The lion, the warrior, the hero that roared with such might,
Now quietly sobs for her pain and her loss, a flame of grief now alight.
Two souls intertwined...now world's apart,
A long journey of loneliness Ali has to start,
Her orphans, her prayer mat, the memories of her days,
With these he will survive, and he now says...
'A flower, nipped in the bud. From paradise it came, and to paradise it went, but has left its fragrance in my mind'.