“Throne’s Lament” (*لبّيك يا حسين)

My grandfather was not but a stump, but for him I've naught but jealousy, for upon him stood the blessed feet of he who was sent, all worlds' mercy. Thou art from him, and he from thee - what gladder news received a man? And what need hast thou of me when thy throne is …

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“My Tree” (شجرتي)

Desiccated digits delve diligently deeper, cleaving through the cold air, climbing ever steeper, cleaving to the life inside refusing to grow meeker. Long-since evicted leaves what made the struggle weaker stir on soft and subdued straits – sailing on a sigh, spoken sans a speaker. No blossoms left to fall, but not dead or dying. …

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