Between Nubūwwah and Imāmah, there’s a juncture

Between Nubūwwah and Imāmah, there’s a juncture

Begotten by Aḥmad and strengthened by Ḥaydar

Adorned by legacies twain of nobility:

Ḥaydarite tenacity and Prophetic gracility

And when morals refined fuse thus with pure roots

Its owner is peerless—transcending reputes!

Oh al-Ḥasan az-Zakī—the pristine—you are

From these founts: the source of marvels, far!

Oh Abū Muḥammad: oh you special hatchling:

On the crux of Nubūwwah had been your latching!

Your cradle was filled by Fāṭimah’s humming

As she rocked and swayed it in early morning

Reared by the honorable Godly Providence

That assists and pours onto men of prominence

Whose eyes by the glimpses of Aḥmad shimmered

Whose ears by the sounds of revelation quivered

Raised by the miḥrāb, while he was clapsed

To the Prophet’s collar as in sajdah he passed

Resolve only sharpened by red heats of battle

By its lion: his father, the king of its grapple

In your sky only glimmers such dazzling stars

Your horizon not filled except of lodestars

Yes! Yours are events and stances that state

And bear witness to your many epic a trait:

Both in Nahrawān and Siffīn did echo

The strikes of your sword: yet still they bellow!

For your father is Ḥaydar, and the brood of a Ḥaydar

Is self-same: a sword’s son is a saber

How horrendous is history, that still doesn’t budge

In its lies about you: your rank still begrudged

They call you debauched! Oh what a falsity!

And claim you were captious, fearful of paucity

What! Should one fear with a grandfather like yours?!

With a father whose flame with radiance soars?!

They say: “To the son of Hind he relented!”

Such blinding conceit, of all truth rended!

How abased this world is to you, for you are

Beyond its cloud’s drizzle, more gifted by far!

If not to back justice, that whole sovereignty

Was to you a bane wicked and surely lowly

For a throne is nothing to one whose own feet

On the chest of the Prophet had climbed to seat

Is leadership sought with such burning passion

By one whom the Prophet had told, “You’re a captain!”

Yes Muḥammad to him had guided in truth

If not led by Muḥammad, then you‘re the uncouth!

Oh one over whom stars most wondrous passed

While his gaze he kept fixed on God’s Heavens, vast

The daybreaks filled by his pious insistence:

Only Thee I worship and from You seek assistance!

Reciting the Book: by its promises reveled

While at its threats he would shake and tremble

A spirit on heavenly horizons flying

A hand that in charity had been undying

Liberality so noble, it encompassed all

Marwān and his spawn were in its thrall

To the son of Hind’s evil you did fall prey

Like a lion bound up and forced to obey

He snuck to you poison, his choicest weapon

For a coward needs stealth to kill such a lion

It ripped your insides and smothered your glim

And dried those lips that God’s Book had hymned

The miḥrāb bereft of that saintly scholar

Long found in those darkest nights in prayer

Peace to that plain of Baqī’ from this zeal

Preceding those brows that on its soil keel

May your sands be drenched by passions gushing

And your quarter quenched by tears ever-rushing!

---