For all my sisters, especially RN and ZR. With love always.

Sisterhood ~ They say the youth have left the masajid, forgotten their roots, Been consumed with this world, while abandoning truths. I say that while many stepped away from the path, There are those who still feel, both Allah's love and His wrath. Full of flaws are our lives, as upon ourselves we bring shame, Yet within us is a spark--a continuous burning flame. Day by day we do enter, those halls which bring peace, For namaz, dua, aamal, majalis, all worldly activities do cease. Focus we may lack, and no doubt our minds wander, But those moments exist, when a Divine concept we do ponder. Our first school this was, where the soul's training we received, While guarded in our noble mothers, a holy aura was perceived. Allaho Akbar, Salawat, and Ya Husayn we did hear, The echoes of which, are to our hearts ever near. Now we have grown, as adults in our own right, The possibilities are endless, to do wrong day or night. But do you see the nobility of the youth in this day, Those who cling toward the centers, as their Rope toward The Way? They choose to continue the training of their soul, As within the walls of the masjid, or imambargah--they feel whole. Above us tower black flags, written Allah, Muhammad, Ali, These three names do cement, the young momin's identity. And then there is Fatima, that Divine Mother whom we call, The ever-giving, Al-Kawthar--she visits and watches all. The next flag is of Hasan, one half of the youth's kings, And lastly is Husayn--tears and passion his name brings. Ya Husayn we did call, out of breath and without rest, As arms reached for the sky, then fell back to our chest. On Shab-e-Ashura, or a Shab-bedari--do we not step away from life, Leaving behind school and work, business, pressures and all strife? These intimate moments, are the height, I believe, Of the expression of Truth, for through Lighted passion we grieve. Our brothers, in groups, carry azadari North to South, And East to West they travel--with no provisions but hand and mouth. Those hands stain their chests, as solid markers of deen, Yet they don't hurt themselves, but slap the roots of munafiqeen. And what of that mouth, the Divine gift of voice? How we use that great gift, is indeed a personal choice. Whether brothers or sisters, the goal is but one, To reach toward Al-Haqq, while batil we shun. But my sisters, there is more of a weight that we carry, That perhaps we will feel, as we grow and do marry.

The nation we hold, the foundations of Islam, For we are daughters of Truth--that Truth spoken in Shaam. Evil tried but did fail, to erase names of Might, As mothers narrated tales, of the Heroes of Right. One thousand years later, the traditions still stand, While oceans away, from that Holiest land. Ask me what is sisterhood, and without pause I will say, That it is based on Pure Love, and the pain of That Day. My sisters are those with whom I have cried, In whose hearts, the sorrow of Zahra does reside. We confess that our sins have rendered us weak, But Ya Zahra, to be your true daughters we seek. Our negligence does hinder our duties to you, But your Love fills our souls, a Love Pure and True. Imam Sadiq asked Allah to be Merciful to those eyes, That cried grieving for your family--and we are those who recognize-That these tears are both weapons and saviors for us all, For on The Day, Ya Zahra, we will wait to hear the call. When your lovers--indeed those of your father, husband and sons, Will be granted your nearness, as you call them your dear ones. My Queen, Noble Mother, and Master of my heart, Let my sisters and I be, near you--never apart. In this world, we have faults, but please keep us blessed, Let us retain this sisterhood, in this world and the next. Ya Fatima, in your shadow, let us always remain, For azadari is more close, that our own jugular vein. -Fatima Ali October 2011 Dhulqidah 1432