• Ashura del 2 – Sufipoesi

    Här kommer lite Bekhtashi dikter, Bekhtashi har Alevitiska drag, och Aleviterna är en shiasekt som har sina speciella trosuppfattningar som är blandade med gamla turkiska shamaniska drag. Aleviterna förföljdes hårt av det Ottomanska riket och då skapades Bekhtashiinriktingen, en sufiorden som är mycket shiainfluerad, även den förbjöds för runt 100 år sedan.

    Det här är andra delen i min ”uppvärmning” inför Ashura. Ashuradramat är rätt blodigt, män som mördas, huvuden som kapas, händer och armar som slits i stycken. Män som hästar rider på. Kvinnor som förs bort som slavar, barn som skjuts med pilar. Efterföljande händelser är lika blodiga, barn som dör av sorg, gråt och en stats försök att förtrycka och förändra den islamiska nationen. Man lyckades nästan, men bara nästan. Hussain, Profetens barnbarn, och det offer han gav, har än idag varit ledstjärna för de förtryckta.

    Det sägs att Jesus var Guds son och att Gud offrade sin son, men offrade han verkligen sin son? Jesus återuppväcktes och det visste ju Gud, det sanna offret är  Hussain, för han dog verkligen, han återuppstod inte, utan han förlorade sitt liv, hans barns liv och hans anhängares liv. Hussains minsta son var 6 månader gammal och pilen genom hans törstande hals är än idag ett tecken för det förtryck som skedde och som varje muslim måste minnas, förtryck måste kämpas emot, det spelar ingen roll om det är en muslim eller ickemuslim som begår illdåden.

    Every day is Ashura and Every land is Kerbala

    En mening som myntades för många århundraden sedan och förklarar klart och tydligt att man måste se varje dag som en kamp mot ondska.

    With the dim light of the crescent moon
    The New Year unfurls insidiously
    Like black clouds of Monsoon
    Casting shadows of doom and gloom
    Thick shades of black that drape the earth
    Writhing and bleeding as the wind brings images –
    a Severed arm, a pierced throat, a headless body
    O my Abbas!, O my Ali Asghar! O my Husain!
    dripping black blood like black gold
    that energizes the rusty dead soul
    The black garb of night
    Devoid of color and pleasure
    Hides the vibrant colors of truth
    Pure and untainted
    Only to be seen with the spirit of the eye
    The spirit of the seeker seeking the truth
    Truth in its gleaming armor
    Faces the black beast in the Yazids,
    the blackened hearts of the Qabils,
    the blinding blackness of ignorance
    The rare black rose of the desert
    gives up its precious petals to the winds
    The fragrance drifting in the valleys and hills of
    time
    The scent of the Tuba Tree
    The scent of Yusuf’s shirt
    The scent of the poetry of Ali
    The heavenly scent of pure divine beings
    The banner falls with a loud crash
    But the words like seeds scatter far and wide
    The black fertile earth
    Brings forth a celebrating green of hope
    Truth after all can never die
    ——–Raihana Yusuf
    Ah! Our dear Imam!
    Where have you gone?
    We stand alone.
    In our imagination
    We are from the brave
    Who stood with you.
    But we refuse to see
    That we never came
    To answer your call.
    What can we say now?
    We have abandoned everything,
    But the moment is gone
    It has come, it has gone!
    And we still stand
    Abandoned by all,
    Calling your name, beating our chests.
    Ah! Our dear Imam!
    Where have you gone?
    Please return to take our souls
    The souls of those who stood,
    In the ranks of evil
    When the moment had come.
    We call on you,
    After it is finished,
    To save our souls
    From the pain of shame.
    ——–Bosnevi
    Çekildim, bir köşeden hisseme seyran düştü
    Cibrilin kanadından bu ulu destan düştü
    Kalemler yazdı kanla yüzyıllar ötesinden
    Gelip anlattığına melekler pişman düştü
    Dinledim gözyaşlarım sel olup aktı bugün
    Zavallı gönlüm gamdan böyle perişan düştü
    Kimi elest bezminde verdiği sözde dâim
    Kimine yalan riya, kimine isyan düştü
    Tevellasın anlayıp teberrasın bilmeyen
    Bahtsızın hissesine Yezid ü Mervan düştü
    Bezm-i ezelden beri bizi anlamadılar
    Bir uzlete çekildik kavlimiz pinhan düştü
    Her ayeti açıldı orda Ümmü’l-Kitab’ın
    Aşıkın nasibine bâtın-ı Kur’an düştü
    Yarıldı ortasından zülfikar oldu bahtım
    Bir yanına aşk-ı Hak, bir yanına kan düştü
    Yüzyıllar ötesinden Fatıma evladına
    Tıpkı o gün misali ıstırap, hicran düştü
    Yanağında Resulün dudaklarından izler
    Gül gül parladı o dem melekler hayran düştü
    Yıldızlar tek tek söndü Sahra-i Kerbela’da
    En son Hüseyin mâruf O meh-i tâban düştü
    İnsanlığın çöllere gömüldüğü andı o
    Melekler indi sâf sâf, dediler “İnsan düştü”
    —A.Yılmaz
    Soyyer
    Day of sorrow takes its place right here.
    Ah Husayn! Vah Husayn!
    Anguish resonates near, so very near.
    Ah Husayn! Vah Husayn!
    Shahid’s fallen! Sovereign of Men!
    My Lord Husayn! My Husayn!
    Karbala’s plain seethes with dismay,
    Crimson bloody sets now this tragic day.
    Solitary there stands the King!
    Solitary there stands the King!
    Ah Husayn! Vah Husayn!
    Shahid’s fallen! Sovereign of Men!
    My Lord Husayn! My Husayn!
    From his mount has fallen my King.
    Yazid’s chalice full of gore be filled!
    To Madinah the steed has fled!
    To Madinah the steed has fled!
    Ah Husayn! Vah Husayn!
    Shahid’s fallen! Sovereign of Men!
    My Lord Husayn! My Husayn!
    Karbala’s fate has been thus decreed,
    Shahid’s slain, left here alone to bleed.
    Mother Fatimah’s darling dear one!
    Mother Fatimah’s darling dear one!
    Ah Husayn! Vah Husayn!
    Shahid’s fallen! Sovereign of Men!
    My Lord Husayn! My Husayn!
    Karbala’s now disguised in sunburnt pasture,
    Soil that’s discoloured my knees.
    Never-ending tears pour from me,
    Never-ending tears pour from me,
    Ah Husayn! Vah Husayn!
    Shahid’s fallen! Sovereign of Men!
    My Lord Husayn! My Soul Husayn!
    —Hatayi

    With the dim light of the crescent moon

    The New Year unfurls insidiously

    Like black clouds of Monsoon

    Casting shadows of doom and gloom

    Thick shades of black that drape the earth

    Writhing and bleeding as the wind brings images –

    a Severed arm, a pierced throat, a headless body

    O my Abbas!, O my Ali Asghar! O my Husain!

    dripping black blood like black gold

    that energizes the rusty dead soul


    The black garb of night

    Devoid of color and pleasure

    Hides the vibrant colors of truth

    Pure and untainted

    Only to be seen with the spirit of the eye

    The spirit of the seeker seeking the truth


    Truth in its gleaming armor

    Faces the black beast in the Yazids,

    the blackened hearts of the Qabils,

    the blinding blackness of ignorance


    The rare black rose of the desert

    gives up its precious petals to the winds

    The fragrance drifting in the valleys and hills of

    time

    The scent of the Tuba Tree

    The scent of Yusuf’s shirt

    The scent of the poetry of Ali

    The heavenly scent of pure divine beings


    The banner falls with a loud crash

    But the words like seeds scatter far and wide

    The black fertile earth

    Brings forth a celebrating green of hope

    Truth after all can never die

    ——–Raihana Yusuf



    Ah! Our dear Imam!

    Where have you gone?

    We stand alone.

    In our imagination

    We are from the brave

    Who stood with you.

    But we refuse to see

    That we never came

    To answer your call.

    What can we say now?

    We have abandoned everything,

    But the moment is gone

    It has come, it has gone!

    And we still stand

    Abandoned by all,

    Calling your name, beating our chests.

    Ah! Our dear Imam!

    Where have you gone?

    Please return to take our souls

    The souls of those who stood,

    In the ranks of evil

    When the moment had come.

    We call on you,

    After it is finished,

    To save our souls

    From the pain of shame.

    ——–Bosnevi


    Day of sorrow takes its place right here.

    Ah Husayn! Vah Husayn!

    Anguish resonates near, so very near.

    Ah Husayn! Vah Husayn!

    Shahid’s fallen! Sovereign of Men!

    My Lord Husayn! My Husayn!


    Karbala’s plain seethes with dismay,

    Crimson bloody sets now this tragic day.

    Solitary there stands the King!

    Solitary there stands the King!

    Ah Husayn! Vah Husayn!

    Shahid’s fallen! Sovereign of Men!

    My Lord Husayn! My Husayn!


    From his mount has fallen my King.

    Yazid’s chalice full of gore be filled!

    To Madinah the steed has fled!

    To Madinah the steed has fled!

    Ah Husayn! Vah Husayn!

    Shahid’s fallen! Sovereign of Men!

    My Lord Husayn! My Husayn!


    Karbala’s fate has been thus decreed,

    Shahid’s slain, left here alone to bleed.

    Mother Fatimah’s darling dear one!

    Mother Fatimah’s darling dear one!

    Ah Husayn! Vah Husayn!

    Shahid’s fallen! Sovereign of Men!

    My Lord Husayn! My Husayn!


    Karbala’s now disguised in sunburnt pasture,

    Soil that’s discoloured my knees.

    Never-ending tears pour from me,

    Never-ending tears pour from me,

    Ah Husayn! Vah Husayn!

    Shahid’s fallen! Sovereign of Men!

    My Lord Husayn! My Soul Husayn!

    —Hatayi

One Responseso far.

  1. Rasul skriver:

    Ya Husseyn!

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