Ashura

They ask me, “Why do you cry every year? Why do your eyes still shed these tears?” And I answer, before you ask me why I mourn, tell me first why others rejoice on the day Husain was torn. Tell me, When Nuh was saved from the raging sea, who made that day a celebration for you and me? When Ibrahim emerged from the fire’s glow, who declared a yearly festival so all would know? When Yusuf rose from prison to the throne, who made that day a celebration widely known? And when Isa’s disciples asked for heavenly bread, a table from the skies by Allah spread, Muslims recite the verse and move along, yet no yearly celebration echoes in their song. But somehow… when Husain is slain… when Zaynab is left with unbearable pain… when Abbas falls beside the stream… when Sakina wakes from a shattered dream… I am told to smile. I am told to cheer. I am told this is a blessed day of the year. Forgive me. My heart cannot go there.