Tag Archives: dikt

The five underneath the cloak

The five underneath the cloak 
By: Aya Faylee

Underneath the Yamani cloak, the prophet let his family stay 
Peace be up on their pure souls, to heaven they are the only way

Underneath that piece of cloth, Mohammed made an immortal confession 
A proof that they were the right road to follow, the safe direction

Under that cover he raised his hand towards the heavens and prayed
Announcing to the world that his love and trust in Ahlul Bayt laid

Telling the oceans and the mountains, the sky above and the earth below 
That he is from them and they are from him; he let the whole universe know

At war with their enemies he shall be, and at peace with their friends 
Angry with their oppressors and pleased with their faithful associates

Then the Lord, Almighty Allah to the angels in the heavens said
But for the love of the five under the cloak, everything he had made

Mohammed, his last prophet and the best of his creation
The messenger who taught us the manners of a great religion

Fatimah, daughter of Mohammed and the symbol of modesty
The illuminated sun that shines upon us with beams of verity

Ali, the commander of the faithful, the door to the city of wisdom
The man with a heart of a lion, the non-believers fearsome

Hassan, to his grandfather the apostle of God, he had the most similarity 
A noble leader that walked on this earth with massive generosity

Hussein, the warrior of fairness, the bravest soul mankind ever maintained
Who taught the creation the definition of courage, how justice is obtained

Underneath the cloak, they sat surrounded by the prophet’s sweet scent 
Five souls who are our faultless guidance to how life should be spent

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Ali Ali when his name reach my ear

 

Ali , Ali when his name reach my ears,
away go the sadness, anger and fear.
The bad has turned into good in my tears.
I been blinded from the truth for to many years.
He has past on, it been thousands of years.
But sometimes in my heart I can still feel him here.
I feel his strength, his wisdom and care.
I will do my best to take after the legacy you shared.
Pray for Jannah and for seeing you there… ♡♥♡

Ya Ali! ♥♡♥

 

/Liv Nilsson

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The Road to Brightness

The road to brightness
Aya Faylee

It took me years, to face my fears
Lost many days, to find new ways

I steped on many soils seeking a challange
Walked different paths, searching for knowlegde

Untill one day, A name entered my ears
A name so unique, it almost brought me tears

Ali, they told me
Ali, they said

What does it mean? I wondered
Love it is, they answered

So, I opened the books and heard his stories
I read the lines, got amazed by his glories

A man so brave, got streanght of a mountain
A man so strong, except God, none made him frightened

A man so wise, I wished he was my teacher
A man with knowlegde, that flew him to the future

I soon realized, I no longer needed to travel
I soon knew, I had already found the treausre

Ali, was no longer a name for me
It was now my precious key

A key to unlock my darkness
A road to brightness, a way to end my blindness

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The Patience of the shias

The patience of the shias…Daily attacks in Iraq, Syria, Libanon and Pakistan. Daily shias are slaugthered, and while our sunni sibblings follow leaders who call for jihad, and the slaughter of the shias, we still keep on, dreaming, speaking and shouting – brotherhood. No difference between shias and sunnis.
It amazes me how much patience we have. And it amazes me how stupid our enemies are, who dont know the wrath and the anger that will rise unless they stop this crap.

Daily, shia children and women are killed..and Daily we shout..Brotherhood..Unity…

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What fortunate people we are

What fortunate people we are…We got Muhammadaa and Fatimaa..We have Ali and Hassan and Hussaina…
We got the 12 Immas the 14 masooms.
What fortunate people we are…We got Badr and Khaibar and Kerbalaa..
We got the first and the second martyrs..we have the Ayatollahs amongst us..What fortunate people we are..we got the brave..the honorble..the saved ones…
We have the love for Ahlul Bayt and the Quran..We have men like Khomeini and Khameini.
We got the heroes of the revolution of 1979 and the fighters of Hizbollah..
What fortunate people we are..we have all this..and what do our enemies have?

What miserable people they are..they got Hind and Abu Sufyan..they got Muawiya and Yazeed..they got the runners from Uhud..They got the murderers of and slayers of the chosen ones..
Shia pride…

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Do not say Shia are the lovers of Ali

A poem from the Lebanese Christian poet, Paulo Salamah on Imam Ali(as)..

Do not say Shi’a are the lovers of Ali!
For in every impartial human there is a Shi’a…

The truth has ignited inside the Christian,
Until of all this love he became an Alawi!

Oh Prince of Eloquence this is my loyalty,
I thank Allah that He has made me loyal,

For I am a lover of heroism and inspiration,
And justice and good manners,

If Ali was not a prophet,
Indeed his actions were as a prophet,

He is the pride of history not pride of a tribe!
That history itself claimed him as its custodian!

He was killed to save this universe,
So Allah grant this universe your eternal blessing,

And please reward me for what my hand has written,
For tears have overflowed in my eyes,

He is the best of humans after Taha (Muhammad),
This universe has never seen a human like him!

Oh heavens be my witness and oh earth remain stable,
And calm for I have mentioned the name of Ali!

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De frågade tiden

سألوا الزمان : اين الحق ؟
قال : دفن مع علي ،

وأين الإحسان ؟
قال : ذهب مع علي ،

وأين العدالة ؟
قال : غابت مع علي ،

وأين الأمان ؟
قال : ضاع بعد علي ،

وأين الشجاعه ؟
قال : فقدت بعد علي ،

وأين أنت يازمن ؟
قال : عند علي ،

سلام الله عليك يا أمير المؤمنين يا علي إبن أبي طالب اللهم صل على محمد و آل محمد و ثبتنا على ولاية أمير المؤمنين.

De frågade Tiden, vart är rättvisan/rätten? Tiden svarade, den begravdes med Ali

 

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Its calling

Its Calling..Kerbala is Calling..Its shouting..Kerbala is Shouting..Happy is he who has seen the land of Kerbala..and happy is he who has shed a tear for Hussaina…
Glad tidings for the lovers of Ali…They are the chosen ones..the happy ones..the victorious ones..
Its Calling..The land of Euphrates is calling..

Bahlool

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Ramadan 2012 – Sorrow and Grief

En av de bästa dikter jag läst (skrevs av en vän till mig). Snart, medan han var på väg till bönen, så märkte Imam Ali a.s, att profetian som Profeten Muhammed (s.a.w) hade uttalat, var på väg att besannas. Snart skulle han böja sig i bön, för att sedan bli slagen med ett förgiftad svärd, av den fördömde Ibn Muljim. Islam hade förlorat sin största hjälte.

Sleep reigned over the Kufan town,
As from the mosque came a godly sound.
The call for prayer filled the sky,
Moving the air with a gentle sigh.
Awakening Muslims with a gentle prod,
“O people come, and pray to God.”
And in the silent mosque, Ali (AS) stood alone,
Gazing at every wall and stone.
He knew that these walls would be stained with blood,
Innocent, pious, saintly blood.
Today his blood would be shed,
These clean walls would be covered in red.
He was eager for martyrdom I am sure,
It was then he heard a tiny snore.
In a corner a sleeper lay,
Ali (AS) knew he had not come to pray.
Gently Ali (AS) awoke the man,
“Awake awake, O Ibn Moljim.
Come it is nearly time to pray,
Awake for the coming day.
I know your work, I know why you’ve come,
Remember your deed cannot be undone.”
Ibn Moljim, nothing did say,
Quickly he rose and walked away.
Ali (AS) prepared for prayer as the Muslims came,
Ready to pray in Allah’s Name.
“Allah-u-Akbar” his voice began,
Behind him stood Ibn Moljim.
“Allah-u-Akbar” Ali (AS) said again,
And knelt before God with the other men.
Suddenly Ibn Moljim moved forward to kill,
His sword with poison was definitely filled.
He raised his sword and struck it down,
Confusion was there all around.
Ali’s neck was covered with blood,
His head prostrated before his God.
Ibn Moljim quickly ran,
He was a scared and sinful man.
And Ali (AS) reeled back not crying out his pain,
His blood-drenched lips spoke in Allah’s name.
His heart felt happy, his mind so light,
He was finally ending his worldly life.
His sons held him in their arms,
As if to protect him from this physical harm.
His smiling lips parted and then he said,
“I thank Thee O Lord for a martyr’s death.”
Soon Ibn Moljim was brought before Ali (AS),
His state was terrible, Ali (AS) could see.
His bonds were cutting deep in his skin,
Causing the blood to spurt from within.
A frown creased Ali’s brow,
He ordered the bonds be loosened NOW.
The murderer into tears broke,
Ali (AS) smiled faintly and then he spoke.
“It is not too late to repent O Ibn Moljim,
Was I an unjust or cruel Imam?”
Then to his sons, Ali (AS) said,
“Give him a drink to relieve his head.”
But Ibn Moljim didn’t trust Ali,
He refused the drink quietly.
Ali (AS) then spoke, “O Ibn Moljim,
Why do you not trust your dying Imam?
If you had taken this juice of mine,
You’d be with me in Heaven divine.”
In two more days Ali (AS) died,
So “Think not of those slain in the way of Allah as dead, Nay, they are living, with the Lord they have provision.”
(Qur’an, 3:169)
By: Nayyar H. Zaidi
Poetess: Zainab Kazim (UK)

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My thoughts in the morning

Vaknar, har missat dricka vatten, borsta tänderna eller göra imsaak..då blir jag yr av kärlek

I am at peace with who is at peace with you..

I am at war with who is at war with you..

I hate who hates you and i love who loves you.

May Allah curse who fought you, cursed you, hated you.

May Allah curse who had one ounce of evil thought about you

.
You are my Masoomeen, my beloved once.

You are my honor and my pride. You are the chosen ones.

The flags of truthfulness…The banner of righteousness.

You are the keepers of the secrets, the defenders of faith. My life still clocks on – all due to my love for you…14 infailibles..Salam we Alef salam!!

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There he stood

There he stood..on the hills of Kerbala, at the banks of Euphrates, on the land between the two rivers. He stood all alone, waiting for destiny to fullfill itself.
There he was, lost brothers and sons and soon also his head.
There he stood, knowing his sacrifice will echo through history.
There he was, son of glorious parents. Son of glorious ancestors.
Giving his head, but not his hand to the tyrant.
Forever remembered, never forgotten – Hussain.

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