“I know a woman whom grief has consumed, body and soul. Her two sons, her brother, her father, her son-in-law, and her cousins were martyred. She has not seen her husband for months and does not know in which land he is.

With trembling lips, I asked her, ‘How are you? Has sorrow left any room in your heart?’

She smiled and gently reproached me.

‘My grief is not even a drop compared to the sorrow of my Sayyedah Fatimah, for whom her husband built a house of sorrows.

My grief is nothing compared to the sorrow of Jacob, whose eyes turned white from grief.

My sorrow is fleeting compared to the enduring sorrow of my master, Imam Zayn al-Abidin, who wept whenever he drank even a drop of water.

I am nothing compared to my Sayyedah Zainab.

My grief is nothing. My worries are nothing. I am nothing before them.”

— By Fatimah Berri