The Martyrdom of Fatima – Poem

The IMC sends its condolences to all on the martyrdom anniversary of the beloved daughter of Prophet Muhammad, Fatima, peace be upon her. Here is a beautiful poem in honor of the Mistress of the Women of the Worlds.

 

Brandishing their torches

They stood outside her home

“Come out; plead thy allegiance!”

We want power for our own.

 

The assailants pounded even harder

And against the door they thrust

Between the wall and entrance

Our flower, she was crushed.

 

The assault, it wasn’t over,

Of that lady, mild and meek

The enemies of her husband

Struck her hard across the cheek.

 

She cried out loud, “O Father!

They’ve snapped the stem of your bud!”

She miscarried her unborn infant

And fainted in her blood.

 

Her health rapidly diminished

Our lady grew quiet, pale.

She knew her time was coming

She ached and she was frail.

 

She later called upon her husband,

“Ali, stay by my side.

I have some things to tell you.

My words you must abide.”

 

“One request that I have for you

Is that once again you wed.

My niece, who loves my children,

I have chosen in my stead.”

 

“Heed these words of mine, O husband!

Please don’t let them attend

My funeral – those who’ve done this –

When my life comes to its end.”

 

“O Ali! When you entomb me,

Don’t dig a lonely grave.

Dig several all around me

So they don’t know where I’m laid.”

 

“And, husband dear, you wash me

And wrap me in my shroud.

With your two strong arms embrace me

And lay me in the ground.”

 

“Once I’m there do not forsake me.

Sit by my lonely tomb.

As my soul, like any mortal’s,

Is fearful of its doom.”

 

“God’s will, you cannot alter.

I entrust my children unto thee.

This, maybe, will console you;

Of this world, I will be free.

 

She asked for her new garments

And camphor her father had given;

The scent of Paradise that Gabriel brought

As a gift to him from heaven.

 

As her strength subsided,

And she knew her time was nigh,

She made her ablution

And towards the Qiblah lay, to die.

 

She addressed her companion, Asma

On her lips, a secret smile

“I am fatigued and want to rest.

Call me in a while.”

 

After an hour, when Asma called her,

Silence was the reply.

She knew her desert flower

Had wilted and had died.

 

As the news spread through the city,

Wailing women gathered near.

And men, impatient to carry the body,

Of Ali’s Zahra dear.

 

Abu Dharr called to the people,

“Please, in vain don’t you wait!

Today her body won’t be buried,

As it is very late.”

 

Then quietly, in the moonlight,

With the chosen by his side,

Silently, they bore the coffin

Of Ali’s holy bride.

 

And as Ali lowered her body

To its final place of rest

Two arms just like the Prophet’s

Gathered her to its breast.

 

Inconsolable, grieving,

Ali’s courageous heart then broke.

And he gathered his motherless children,

All tearful, beneath his cloak.

 

At the break of dawn, his house grew silent.

 

As promised, he didn’t disclose

Nor answer any questions

 

Of where he buried his Arabian rose.

 

By Arsalan Rizvi – Islamic Insights