When Is Death Sweeter Than Honey? by Professor A.L.I.
Contrast the warmth of honey’s sweetness on the lips of youth,
With the coldness of a mouth, of a martyr who spits truth.
The candle light flickers, no one clambers towards door.
The armor is sorted, and honey is the metaphor.
For the sharp death that comes from an oppressor’s blade!
So speaks the smallest strand of Hassan’s DNA.
He asks his uncle’s permission to go into the fray alone,
To represent his father into a future unknown;
Reluctance was his answer, but Qasim had a letter,
Written to his uncle, from his father, to whom he was indebted,
For when Hassan was dying, poisoned, his last request,
Was to be buried next to his grandfather, Muhammad.
Husayn tried to fulfill it, but archers shot the procession,
And his corpse became a symbol of this family’s oppression.
So when he sees his brother’s writing after such a long time,
He gives Qasim what he seeks, as tears drop from his eyes.
Not tall enough to get on, he helps the young man on the steed,
Who couldn’t even reach the stirrups, for too small were his feet.
He somehow maintained balance and rode on towards this war,
He fought, till they smothered him, and Qasm from his horse.
Crying out for his uncle, as wicked riders trampled his form,
So when Husayn finds his nephew, it’s a puzzle of corpse.
He takes off his cloak and gathers the pieces of Qasim,
Like he was plucking flowers from a most beautiful garden.
His slings the bundle, over his shoulder, but it drags beneath,
And this is the same small child, whose feet wouldn’t reach.
The devil’s forces, used the bloody horseshoes as tokens;
To hang within their homes, as a good luck omens.
Death is as sweet as the blood dripping from those shoes;
The purest honey, from flowers collected, upon the lips of youth.