Every year at this time, I would be in Manama, holding the world’s bleeding heart in my own. In the sound of a unified beat of the chest, Muharram comes alive. To my left, my grandmother sits, holding fresh bunches of razqi (a small jasmine flower) and stems of mashmoom.

Soon, the lamenting crowds will pass. From our little balcony, she will shower them with flowers as they throw their hands skywards.

I often watched the flowers get stuck between their hands and their beaten chests, sometimes entangle themselves in someone’s hair, never seeming to find their way to the ground. This year is different, my grandmother is no longer with us, crowds are scant. Physically, I am far.

With millions this year unable to congregate in an annual revolutionary grief, I wanted to share some of my favourite qasa’id. While these verses centre around religious motifs, at their core is a yearning for a worldly, transcendent love for mankind and the oppressed.

Shia spirituality holds a place for grief, a political spirituality, and arc-of-justice philosophical view of the world. This is seen even in its interpretation of stories before the prophet’s lineage, such as the Shia interpretation of Habil’s murder at the hands of Qabil.

In a world ravaged by collective crisis, we need this moment of grief. A collective scream, or cry, followed by a revolutionary restorative love. We need it, more than ever.

“Bara’at al-‘ishq” (the innocence of love). The line: “I am a child, but with the voice of my love, God has called to prayer”. In this sense, love for Hussain and the oppressed is subversive: an inability to turn away from injustice.

Mystical motifs, common within Shia practice, abound in this qasida: “I feel in your secret, God’s mystery” (at 6:08)—as in, a love for Hussain is in itself mystical practice, a transcendent love towards what is just (God), and revolution against injustice is the way (path).

“Allah, Allah”. A Farsi lamentation on the state of the world. In it, Karbala is every land and every day is Ashura (as in, injustice must be tackled on every land, everyday).

These lines: “There is no patience of calm in the world” and “woe to a lonely world!”, and the visuals of transcendent unity in this video always stop me in my tracks.

“Junouni” (my madness). Hussain Faisal’s voice—unmatched passion. “If time chases me, I’ll escape to my homeland [which is] Hussain” epitomises Shia spirituality, where the ‘path’ to God’s mystery is a stand against tyranny—this state of being becomes a “homeland”.

In Shia practice—in addition to a love for God, the prophet, and Ali ibn abi Talib— a love for Hussain is the muscle of societal love, familial love, brotherly love. Love for justice. Love for home.

This qasida states this love outright, “O people, I love him, I love him” unapologetically; it is one of the most sincere and beautiful assertions on this list.  

“Akhaaf min a’oofak” (I fear leaving you) speaks in Zainab’s voice. She prepares to take on the metaphorical torch of revolution, asserting Hussain’s essence will guide the oppressed, “If they take us away in chains, I’m sure you can rise and come to our aid”.

Zainab’s words are always an atemporal proclamation of faith in the revolutionary path. It is through Zainab that faith becomes equal to continual revolution. Zainab is the revolutionary, feminine divine, a vulnerable strength.

A recent qasida close to my heart. An ode to the mother. I add this both as example of how these poems touch on all aspects of societal and familial love, but also because this poem has consumed me since my own grandmother’s passing.

This Muharram, I am grateful that I know grief. Grief is a big part of Shia spirituality, well-known looking outside-in, but it is also an edifying grief. It is men getting together in a room to cry about their mothers. Societies coming together to cry about injustice.

If you can see a world where this vulnerable love, this weeping—for each other, for society, can be expressed this transcendentally, and invite towards the eradication of injustice, then you understand Shia spirituality.

“Jaddah” (O, grandfather) has Ali al-Akbar conversing with his grandfather (Ali ibn Ali Talib). Note, this qasida in particular is lyrical genius and my attempts to translate give but only a glimpse. Also note Ali ibn Abi Talib > Hussain > Ali-Akbar (lineage).

In “Jaddah”, Al-Akbar promises his grandfather that he will live up to his destiny—of breaking the chains of injustice in the world.

Al-Akbar starts by saying “Grandfather, it is me, your namesake!” and “your Hussain is thirsty in the valley of Karbala!”, alluding to the moment of Hussain’s martyrdom, where Yazeed’s army cut off Hussain and his followers from all sources of water.

“He who does not know Haider [“the lion”, Ali ibn Abi Talib], shall now know his emboldened cub”. What is often thought of as ascribing holiness through lineage, is in this poem the cyclicality and inevitability of avenging injustice.

He ends with “My plea will remain, after the fulfilment of my mortality, to avenge my father [Hussain] –I give my glass of water [to the world]!”. A beautiful proclamation of a spiritual politics of provision for all.

Now, let’s talk about thirst. Since it’s come up, you know. Thirst in the Shia ontological understanding is not merely an uncomfortable state of being, but rather the embodiment of injustice, lack of provision, and epitome of broken society.

Yes, in the Arab tradition, hospitality includes provision. But in the Shia sense, “thirst” is a concept that goes beyond hospitality. It is the right to livelihood. Equity. A lamentation of the thirsty, a lamentation of an unjust life and death.

Okay that’s all I have for now, have these in a little playlist for Muharram. Note: Ashura is commemorated by Shia globally, and this list heavily leans towards Arabic qasa’id because of my own linguistic limitations and cultural upbringing.

I implore others to share their favourite latmiyyas or qasa’id in this thread, in any language, with a description of what they find compelling in them. I will be adding them to my Muharram playlist. Ma’jooreen!