Who is Zahra shall dawn on Doomsday,
Enemies of her enemies in divine pardon sway,
Friends of her enemies shall contrite in dismay;
Today’s tears shed in her love tomorrow pay.
What is Zahra? First let us know
To acquire a letter angle to peep into her woe,
If the prophets placed in one pan and she in another
Imam Sadiq says the pan of Zahra weighs heavier.
From a higher station to a lower station
If a thing given from his own possession
It is called ‘ATA’ in Arabic decorum
So Says God in Qur’an in the shortest sum.
How dear is Zahra to God, shows this chapter,
And remarks her worth to her Father — the Messenger.
Her Father had not yet been buried,
They to avenge their broken idols to Saqifa hurried.
What Monsters in the lane appear!
Ah fear! Ah frantic fear!
Dangerous! Even for those of giant limbs mold
Can a lady with tender heart tolerate to behold?!
He round after round in his hideous form
Howling, shouting, making wilder the wild storm
Stood like a loose hanging rock
Remitting to the sight a paralyzing shock,
Sea the rattling terrors of the vengeful make
And know how his belief false, his faith fake!!!
He never seems tired of his tyrannical sway
And seems to him it is a festive day.
Ruffians and rowdies gathered more and more
Like a loud torrent and a whirlwind’s roar.
But the ringleader wants a larger pile,
Exults, and says fire alone could make him smile.
He ordered: “Bring fuel, wood and set fire”;
The rascals obeyed fanned by strong desire.
Their hearts like torpid rocks (in pagan) array
The winters of their souls chilled their belief astray.
No zephyr of faith sued their rocky breast
A glare, a balm which their hatred awaited to invest,
In the wilderness lost, they built their shed
In the ruin where their souls were dead,
Pleased the rowdies their diabolical power
Made them to dance forgetful of the noontide hour
Whose House it was the vulgar didn’t care,
The Cries of Zahra fell low
As the flames from the house grow,
The ringleader in sprightly spirit, in mirth, ease
Pleased with himself and the deed dazzled to please.
Each ball of sight seemed bursting from his head
And shook with dread at the sound himself had made.
The tyrant cheerful at his deed in a proud pose
Breasts the smoke, waves the sword and goes
And carries the den of curses along the way
Ashes drag the struggling savage day
She betwixt door and the wall fell bleeding
As Fizzah the maid came running.
Ah! What sorrows bloom to gloom the day
Life from its native walk shrinks away.
Shudder the near ones because to them a distant deep
The remote ones on pilgrimage wept, return again to weeps.
Miscarried Mohsen — unborn died
What the mother felt? Falling at his side,
O, you! The Babe of early doom!
Aerial hands shall build your tomb.
With the pearls of tears crowned
And all Infant Martyrs round,
You aren’t dead in any age
Pilgrims shall recite in Qur’an your page,
Honour beheld in tears shall save
To sigh your name thro’ every grave,
Wherever you are laid
There bows heroes’ shade.
Though fallen she turns her joyless eyes
To search where her Mohsen lies,
Since then Zahra felt as if on thorn
And haying lost nightly rest wept till morn.
Even the beasts wept on their way as they pursue
Shrill roared the wind, made melancholy the view.
Ah! Lady! I leave your tale with words so few
Upsets me the tyranny committed against you.
By: Dr. Hassan Najafi