• Kerbala the unspoken word

    Every Day is Ashura – Every Land is Kerbala

    Dagarna av glädje håller på att ta slut. Dagarna av sorg är på väg mot oss. Dagarna då vi åminns Hussain, Abbas, Zeinab och Sukayna. Dagarna då vi minns Akbar och då vi minns Kerbala. Dagarna då vi minns räddaren, offret, hjälten och Imamen.

    Salam Allah 3ala Ahlul Bayt. Jag vet att inte många delar mitt intresse, men jag bryr mig inte. Dagligen får jag höra att jag skriver för mycket om religion eller för mycket om politk och återigen andra menar jag borde skriva mera skvaller om mitt privatliv..Suck säger jag bara..

    Närmaste tiden kommer jag att skriva och publicera mera om Hussain, om Kerbala och om det offer som Hussains död innebar. Det är berättelser om hjältar, om blod, offer, om korruption och om kampen mellan gott mot ont.

    Akh Allah..Ya Hussain, esmek ma yennesi..

    Past Tomorrow

    You left this world at ransom
    To pay that hefty price
    And who would have thought the Prophet’s grandson
    Would have pay it with his life?
    Hussain your name sends shivers that even my hardened could feel
    And the tears that follow are of a sorrow so real
    They bore witness to The Most High
    But how quickly words are born on our hasty tongues
    And how quickly they die
    They bore witness to your grandfather Muhammad (pbuh)
    Lest they had forgotten his name
    Lest they had forgotten who sent him, his message and his claim
    Truth is, they forgot him even before his time came
    On Thursday, paper and pen
    As he lay in pain
    The Prophet who lived, suffered and died for our guidance
    But they had the nerve to call him insane!
    Now that’s insane
    If that isn’t then what is?
    And can you explain why they butchered his grandson
    Why they slaughtered Hussain?
    They bore witness to your mother, unparalleled amongst her kind
    And they knew his father Ali, the Commander of the Faithful
    What’s clear is your killers weren’t in command of the nafs
    And no they weren’t faithful

    Truth is the religion died
    And if it wasn’t for your death it would have been
    Lost beneath our numbered breaths
    And so your memory lives on
    A revolution and a new dawn
    Echoing across the endless valleys of time until today
    Where we say we worship truth but we lie in falsehood
    Surrounded in a world of true evil and false good
    Caught in a web of social depravities
    Decay and corruption by which they promise ease
    A world of fatal morality, of spiritual mortality
    Where the hearts of men are lost before they are found
    And God’s purpose for man on earth is drowned
    By so many shouts of evil!
    Shouts so frail yet spiritually lethal
    I look at the graveyard of man
    Peering into the rectangle that awaits me
    Struggling against the winds that sedate me
    The numbing intoxication borne from the cup of this world
    Blinding man from God and The Path is blurred
    But you taught me better than that
    Hussain you taught me better, in fact
    You taught me to die than to live dying
    You taught me to live in truth and to die trying
    Hussain, who thought they knew of sacrifice until they heard of
    Your beloveds ruthlessly murdered before you?
    Who knew of patience until they heard of what you had to endure?
    And I know it tore you
    To watch those you love and whom God loves pass before you

    And Zainab
    How many tears can an eye shed?
    And how many drops has your heart’s sorrow bled?
    He brutally butchered your family
    And rendered the arid sands of Karbala red
    But still you looked the tyrant in the eye and said
    I see nothing in it but beauty
    To die in the way of truth, it is our duty
    Fighting the armies of oppression and cruelty
    For with surety our blood is not spilt in vain!
    Nor our suffering lost nor our pain
    But man knows no bounds and is quick to forget
    They took his life and they didn’t regret
    But alas!
    His death gave us life
    We’re forever grateful for that, lest we forget
    For even over a thousand years later
    And your blood still soaks this scorching sand
    But your memory lives beyond this land
    Where a struggle took place and a sacrifice so grand!
    Neither time nor space can quell our sorrow
    Where Yazid dies
    And the memory of Hussain lives past tomorrow.

3 Responsesso far.

  1. Harith skriver:

    Ödet ledde mig till dig igen Bahlool. Jag lyssnade till den här dikten på youtube och googlade den för att hitta texten. Då såg jag en länk hit. Du har kommit en lång väg sen du först började med den här sidan, det är kul att se att du fortfarande skriver =)

    Tusen tack för texten!
    Om du någonsin behöver något, så finns jag några musclick bort.
    Din tacksamma vän, Harith (aka Willikins)

  2. Bahlool skriver:

    Ya Hala Harith, long time no c 😉 ser dig ibland på msn men har aldrig tid att skriva 🙁

  3. Harith skriver:

    Inshallah kommer jag ha äran att byta ord med dig igen inom kort =D


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