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Hussainu minnee wa ana min Al-Hussain Hussain is from me and I am from Hussain He and I are one and the same It was Rasoolullah who pulled out the spear from Ali-Akbar's chest It was Rasoolullah who saw Ali-Asghar ripped from his mother's breast It was Rasoolullah who spent days with no water and no rest Hussainu minnee wa ana min Al-Hussain Hussain is from me and I am from Hussain He and I are one and the same The first is Muhammad, the middle is Muhammad and so is the last What's done is done but let's not repeat the past The end is nigh. Are we ready for the rising and the blast? Oh Fatima, losing Mohsin being crushed by the door was not enough. The aggressors were pretending to be so tough. They wanted the world but its gains are nothing but fluff. Hussainu minnee wa ana min Al-Hussain Hussain is from me and I am from Hussain He and I are one and the same The Ahlulbayt are the lights who show us the way They tell us when we do our duty it's Eid day. Beware! Those who disobeyed left Hussain's body trodden under the sun's ray. Abbas' humility left his children near forgotten. Yet you struggle to fast with hearts so cold, so rotten. Are you serving the One who is not begotten? Zainab went from Kufa to Shaam and saw nothing but beauty. Beauty is what you see in His face doing nothing but your duty. For the Yazids of today. You can keep the war booty. Assalaamu alaa aseeril kurubaat, wa qateelil 'abaraat For your sacrifice, we shed tears as loving friends Intercede for us that our faith remains certain to the end. Hussainu minnee wa ana min Al-Hussain Hussain is from me and I am from Hussain He and I are one and the same

Until then comes His Light. Loneliness and dark filled days, Wash over me like ocean spray, Evil coming, to my way, Until then comes His Light. At first a spark or little glow, A face or smile that gives me hope, Then just like a harp that's played so low, Until then comes His Light. A stirring wave upon the sea, A star in darkness, over me, God is here for all to see, Until then comes His Light. A Prayer that comes but not with words, His Light with me which gently stirs, My thoughts rise up from deepest mud, Until then comes His Light. Not found in boxes well adorned, Or in some books old, shelved and worn, Nor in a person, despite the hopes, Until then Comes His Light.

O glorious dawn, resplendent light Upon our thoughts in darkest night Sweet throne of mercy Ever bright Keep us close within Your sight Lest we fall like chicks in Spring keep us Lord on upward wing Should demons come and block our way May your mercy with us stay.

The street names are from my local town "Kilbirnie" Just like the rain on Garnock stream or dew on May’s fair morn Or upon the Spider web in tombstones left forlorn A gentle power of Love does fall on mills in Knoxville Road And seen upon the smiling face of babes in their abode Or random acts of kindness shown in finding mobile phones Or helping older people walk on ice on Milton Road Or in the eyes of little deer which run through open fields In steel work sheds with gypsies´ beds and talks of business deals Through different cables power runs to light the darker nights Through different folk a gentle love expresses its own light In every man a power shines from Place to Ladeside vale Reflecting joy with sweet accord o’er mountain hill and dale

In Memory of a Special Trip to Radio Nederland Wereldomroep (World Service), shortly after its closure; Hilversum,The Netherlands with Abdul Haq. Gentle drops of rain upon the ground, Mourning lost forever happy sounds, A reflecting pool for thinkers wandering round, Treading sacred paths with Abdul Haq. Memories of youth in distant past, Swirling round a huge transmitter mast, While Angels whisper "nothing here does last", Treading sacred paths with Abdul Haq. Staring in the pool with heavy eyes, While Angels fingers point to Paradise, Reflecting back a death I recognise, Treading sacred paths with Abdul Haq. A soft sweet figure swirls around my head, It asks "why seek ye life amongst the dead? Him you'll find in all the paths you tread" Treading sacred paths with Abdul Haq. Gods unfoldment takes another turn, Angels turn the wheel, new things begun Presenting God anew to everyone, Treading sacred paths with Abdul Haq.

In the shade of Grandpa's house There stood a Rowan Tree Where my Brother tried to climb With Rosalyn and me Its splendid trunk and green filled leaves Testified God´s Love And on the top, the highest branch There sat a snow white dove Every day my Grandpa came Admired the towering boughs While we as children playing there Saw darkened twigs and crows Branches hung just o´er his head With towering darkened power Yet we as children plain could see They were withering every hour And as God called him close to death and only gloom he saw we kids still played around the tree admiring it with awe. Its leaves held back the sunshine light Its branches stern with years Sitting with his chair and pipe It calmed away his fears Yet we as children playing in sight Saw only twigs and leaves Revealing more of sky to us Than he could ever see We pointed up at shafts of light Throughout the darkened power But he preferred the shaded glade To pass the wakened hour We saw sun and endless days Upon his chair he sat Despite the passing years it stood The tree was sound at heart From that tree, we children learnt that shadows mark our way and how we must, as we´ve been taught always watch and pray

Broken dreams and heartfelt sorrows Always help mankind to grow For deep beneath the ground is stirring, Tiny buds beneath the snow Pushing through the glasslike ice sheets Pulling down the water earned Comes a bloom of lovely colour. For which man has long since yearned When words of friends and foes despise you Give a thought to budding spring. For far beneath your pain and sorrow, A bird ls waiting to take wing.

Perhaps upon the River Cart or by its dwindling streams We feel a heart that’s beating power without another means A power that turns the waiting tide and waters plants and flowers Turning students to their books in every waitng hour A power that lights the morning dawn and dusk a gentle glow A power that hold each swan intact as waters gently flow A guiding light which simply “Is” with no demands on man While preachers loudly scream and shout that all the folk are damned A power that needs no words nor praise to move within it’s place For it has the world for man to feel it’s gentle guiding pace And if by chance an apple tree should spring in Barshaw Park Or nestling feathers after flight, you see a morning lark Look upon its shining beak or feathers black and pure Worship not the image, mind, but the power that it endures And when the apple tree no more, holds up it’s greenish fruit Look toward the power in Life for all things absolute Only the real stands up to time, with majesty and robes All else disappears from sight, with pain and anxious throws And so the real in everything is found not in the clay But in the power of Life itself which opens up the day

In every darkened place and time there lies a dark stained land, where people die with martyr´s blood which stains the yellow sand Perhaps a place within our minds which kills all false ideas but with it love and peace are pushed to fall and disappear like Hussain's death at Kerbala or Hasan´s poisoned cup We seem to think such evil things with thoughts which do corrupt Silently we think our thoughts from places dark inside which reap a battle outwardly which never do subside and then we mourn as saints, the men, whose blood they left behind not knowing we ourselves did kill by our false thoughts in mind

And what of Love in brightest days With illumined lofty shafts And brings provision, gives us air To work our human crafts And heightened strains so sweet and low Upon the leaves and trees And brightens every young man's heart from sickness and disease. And on it's wings white feathers seen Of purity and graces Rising higher in our thoughts From darkened mortal places And where it dwells upon the heart With joyful power and praise We look to it to guide us home In every human way

To Serve In you my God, so true and tender I know my life is but to serve, Within your light of glorious splendor The path is lit and well preserved Within your love is safe abiding Far away from every tear Sacred words gently entreating Lest I forget that you are here You banish every self made sorrow Every anxious thought and care Your message rises up before me Now I see it everywhere

After Jummah shadow dwells Back to the world we part With a thought, a vanished hour With sadness in our hearts Yet souls, rise up on wisdom's wings, With each prayer we find Life has a higher recompense Than just to please mankind. Supreme and omnipresent God, Guide us in wisdom's way! Give peaceful triumph to the Truth, And melt our sins away

A Muslim’s heart is like a flower Where there is always room For every lovely seed from God Comes to perfect bloom A Muslim’s heart is like a Mosque A room of peace and Love Where Angels make their presence felt With ideas from above A Muslim’s heart is like a fort Of mighty rugged stone Where sayings kept of Mirza dear Rest upon its throne A Muslim’s heart is like a star Reflecting light from God Shining brightly in the night On pathways deeply trod A Muslim’s heart is broken still So God can build anew A pathway closer to himself Of purity and truth A Muslim’s Heart beats larger When love is given free Without condition or distrust Our Hearts light up with glee

A Martyr's blood a garden tends, the time is always spring their blood it feeds the frosted soil and melts the hearts within a Martyr's blood does tend the soil and lives eternally to raise the young like nestlings who shelter in its trees a Martyr's blood does feed the birds and all who call their names to implore Gods saving grace and all our Faith proclaims a Martyr's blood it flows in streams in gardens, mountains, climes proclaiming death is not the end a bell of life it chimes a Martyr's blood within the vale through thorny briars flows and deep beneath all suffering lies a Godly rose

Small Mosque you nestle in the stars In a city full of bikes and cars An Azan called for near and far Its Fajr Time in Glasgow Arabs wave and pass me by While children stare with big brown eyes Through the night the time does fly Its Fajr time in Glasgow Mondays faces have all gone Today new people pray and yawn Some look tired they sit till dawn Its Fajr time in Glasgow Tired and worn, another week Everyone wating, everyone seeks Some superficial, others more deep Its Fajr time in Glasgow

Ali Aur Quran Maulana Mohammad Sajid Rizvi sb https://youtu.be/ocWHKY0J_ug Sar zameen e Qum ul Muqaddassah ke Mashoor Shaer ka *Aalimana kalaam* @MadhoAza

حوائج آؤ ذرا لہر و ہوا دیکھنے چلیں ساحل سے ذرا کچھ لینے چلیں جیب میں اشیاء نہ کہیں ملیں بس آس کا علم ساتھ لے کے چلیں آؤ اس راہ پر قدم تو رکھیں باب الحوئج سے ذرا ملنے چلیں ہاتھوں سے تڑپتی آنکھوں کو ملیں کچھ اشک ذرا کوثر تک چھوڑنے چلیں دل کھول کر اس کریم کو مخاتب کریں واسطہِ عظیم پھر دیتے چلیں بےبازو سے ہاتھ جوڑ کے کہیں اس چھپے کو سامنے رکھ کے چلیں سانسِ سکون لے کر اب آگے بڑھیں آؤ منتظر اب سفر طے کر کے چلیں

Do you know who Ali is?! Secrets of the universe are his Paradise and hell he cleaves At his arrival the enemy flees The shallow religion he fought The path to spiritual climax he taught Beyond "qaba qawsayn ou adna" he appear His light illuminates the angelic sphere When the Prophet ascended Ali's voice was there God holds Ali dear and draws his lovers near Ali cried, "The one who asks learns, The divine mysteries in my heart burns!" Wisdom and knowledge from his words gushed Love was taught passion from him and rushed All darkness, devils and demons he fights With "Ya Ali" God seals and destinies writes Only a dead man who lacks sho'ur Doesn't sense his hozoor The dead become living by his noor To establish Ghadir Mahdi makes zohoor Over the entire universe he is the Imam Over him and his family God sends His Salam!

سیاہ پوش، سفید عمل، سپاہِ الٰہی مقامِ حق، تو سودا دنیاوی تنہائی گریہِ شاہ پیشِ نظرِ اُلٹ، مگر حملہ تو حاضر شاہِ فردوس اور استقبالِ غازی آنسو و لہو باہم عطا سرِ مصلّیٰ اطمینان تآ اختتام، کہ راہ ہے نورانی ظالم کی صدا صرف پھونک، نہ سدا شرط کہ وقت بعدِ ایامِ کمائی واسطہِ عظیم، مصروفِ سجدہِ دعا حاجتِ منتظر ہو قبول یا الٰہی

What is the value of a wound that quickly heals, if of its pain it does not bare tales? Let the drops of blood that pour from the wounds be the ink which is used for the quill, that seeks to write a eulogy Favorable it is to not tend to the blood soaked cut, but allow it to drip into the inkwell Therein the quills tip will taste the bitter flavors that come from blood soaked in tears Dried yellow parchment is all it needs, similar to the grim face of a depreciating body as the blood continues to flow the quill continues to write its eulogy. Eventually the wound and the whole body will cease to carry that which flowed through the veins and arteries The heart will drum no more and there will lie a lifeless body with its blood soaked eulogy.

To some we are royalty and to others of peasantry, aspiring to be greater, but to our misery, a paradox is what it seems to be. In one eye we ascend while in another we descend, a mere shift in paradigms is what will cause us to be of royalty or peasantry. As we loathe in one world in another we rejoice, suffering here while prospering there What then does one make of such chaos?

Assalamu alaikom. O Allah, May you grant peace and honor on Muhammad and his family. I humbly share this poem with you. If this is the wrong type of content for this site, please inform me and I shall remove it. Bismillahirrahmanirrahim. Oh Abbas! You have your father’s eyes. Oh Abbas, I’ve seen them filled with tears, Of a blood-red moon Sobbing in the sky. I’ve seen them laugh, The angel-white moon Of your holy brother’s love. But roar now, Lion cub! Roar! Oh Abbas! We bear witness on that final day, You are your father’s heart!

A piece of work which I've written and recorded in honor of the birth of Imam Ali ibn Abi Talib(as) Enjoy.