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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 Comment

  1. Rasul
    Rasul 12 december 2009

    Ya Husseyn!

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