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Best Sc Poems Of 2011

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Best Poetry of 2011

Purpose: To recognize ShiaChat poetry from 2011 by giving the poems and their authors more readings.

Note: the selection process for the poet of the year doesn't necessarily reflect who may be the most talented. Also, many poets may not want such attention for various reasons. A primary reason is that many of these poems are spritual in nature and the true glory of the this poetry belongs to God alone. Keep this forward in your minds and be respectful. It helps to address the poem, not the poet.

Guide lines:

  • Each member of ShiaChat can make three selections from the year of 2011.
  • Your selection should have the title, the author, and a ShiaChat link at a minimum. You should cut and paste the entire poem in if this is the poems first selection, but I would encourage you to just give a link and a title if your selection has already been selected by another member.
  • You may also make comments on what moved you to make your selection if you like.
  • Count off your votes. This is helps me keep track and make sure somebody does not vote 4 or 5 times by mistake.
  • No changing votes, so page back all the way to page 12 at lest.
  • Be careful about the date the poem was posted. Several people selected poems from 2007 and 2008 and this kept Batool busy last year. Select poetry from 2011!
  • Final selection will be March 7th. (end date)

**copied the above from 2009's forum :)

Edited by haidernyc

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The Life of Imam Hussain

Drawn on the sword that painted death in your eyes… your life as from your birth till your demise

* * *

I wonder if O’ father of freedom… you recall your speech, before you were born

Making your mother weep, telling her of thirst… that martyred alone shall be her newborn

Why put such weight upon a mother’s heart… so childless names her womb must adorn?

Why when her arms long to cradle her child… leave a fragile heart so wounded and torn?

* * *

O’ you who catches the world’s very gaze… has on a newborn this world’s gaze seen tears?

Indeed how can your grandfather not weep… when he sees not blossoming, but torn years

And when Mohammed holds you in his arms… he sees your face as upon him it peers

The face of innocence, drawn in each eye… he sees the same heads carried upon spears

* * *

The same youth that once held Mohammed’s hand… for the moon only the sun can brighten

And stood in awe the people of Najraan… ‘would he ask his Lord to on us curse hasten?

He who’s radiance makes jealous the moon… if he asked his Lord, move would a mountain’

Yet I tell you O’ whose eyes look like moons… if only they’d known what for you was written

* * *

I wonder about these innocent eyes… how young were they when exposed to fire?

What age wore away from them when you saw… your beloved mother struck with a strike dire

Indeed this is the womb in which you slept… of which the angels would enquire

‘Where is Mohsin, the son of Fatima?’… he fell to the door and wall’s desire

* * *

Reflected in the sword of your killer… O’ Master of Martyrs know I wonder

Do you recall wailing on her body? … A sound that to angels came as thunder

Does a child beg his mother to waken… yet only her silence his heart would hinder?

How easily my patience can burn away… whilst motherless to your death you’d wander

* * *

With the spark of life long gone from your eyes… who recalls the reserve of your moral?

That you stood guard infront of Uthman’s door… even on the unjust you’d not wish peril

You wished good on men who’d curse your father… even when crushed you’d stay a rose’s petal

No I’ve not seen a rose so beautiful… that’s lured and murdered by wolves so feral

* * *

I wonder if O’ father of orphans… when your father with your hands you buried

Your soul, it slipped through fingers of your hands… and fell into his grave a planted seed

For how without him could blossom your years… when each day to his voice, it would take heed?

When the tears you would cry would write his name… as would the blood that from your wounds would bleed

* * *

No, the eye has not looked upon a moon… that raises suns who burn valor proudly

And here stands you, who if your were gifted… a thousand sons, you’d name them all Ali

I see it written in your eyes the truth… it’s due to his sword that you stand there lonely

As men seek vengeance for Badr, Uhud… yet you still stand there with his name proudly

* * *

I seek the dreams that once rested upon your eyes… and the land of death in them you’d visit

When I travel to that same land, I ponder… if just travel through my dreams has my spirit

I see where you stood alone and where you bled… I see where your tents upon fire were lit

And I see your life flash before your eyes… as Shimr’s sword upon your neck would sit

* * *

I wonder when you gaze upon Shimr’s face… if you recall the battle of Sofeen

A prisoner had asked you a favour… the rope upon his wrists painful had been

And how could to this wish you not comply? … After all the hardship your eyes had seen

And so you loosened it from Shimr’s hands… such a heart is raised only by a Queen

* * *

This your life that flashes upon his sword… would you care took look upon your future?

When upon a spear, your head it is raised… like devils once raised upon spears scripture

And no longer flash in your eyes shall life… instead you gaze on your daughters’ capture

And much like you they shall walk life enchained… your severed head haunting them a picture

* * *

Nouri Sardar

London – 27/10/11

amazing poem, really moving :cry:

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This is one of the best threads on SC. Why is it so dead?

Anyway, here is my first contribution. I'll think of the other two soon.

I Am The Grey by Nadir

i blended in with the world

as it was felt by those

who felt most at home within it

i put the beast on a leash

and disappeared into the crowds

oh, you who do not observe

who see everything as either fact or fiction

i am the grey

the confused chameleon

who feels destroyed by judgement

as it penetrates every pore in my body

i am the traitor

who does not readily express his opinion

but stays silent and observes

not like a spy

but one who wants to fit in

do you want to know

how i can go to a bar and a mosque

and still take all the

bullets labelled 'hypocrisy'

let me tell you

those who do not reveal

are on the fence

those who reserve

believe it common sense

sunlight opened up my eyes

she said, where are we going

the woman in the red dress

the godless temptress

she smiled at me

and told me a truth that stripped me

right down to the whispering bone

words that chilled me like smoke rings

broke my wings like bee stings

gave me vision so clear i cried

come, said she

come and see what the world is really like

the dirt and the filth and the hopeless

whether you're in a tall building

or a mosque in the desert

you will never belong

nor will you ever understand the meaning of


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My remaining two votes are both poems from my amazing sis and other half in poetry, habib e najjaar<3 Words cannot describe her own and the way they strike every fiber of your heart. Well done habibte!

Need I say anymore?

Need I tell you the tale

Of the gallant son

Shall I break your heart

By his unquenched thirst

Need I tell you the secret

By which he held the flag

Shall I cause you death

By showing you the severed hands

Need I read you the will

That bequeathed flag, water skin and glory

Shall I cause you grief

At the wail of the unquenched niece

Need I make you blind

By the arrow in the eye

Shall I cause you darkness

At the falling of the moon

Need I give you a veil

To carry the hope of the sister

Shall I cause you to mourn

For the loss of the helper of Imam

Need I ask for your help

To raise the blood drenched flag

Shall I dry your tears

When I call you my brother

Need I tell you the name

Of the master who lost his back

Shall I have the breath

To say why he died thirsty at a shore

Need I say any more

This is Abul Fadhl Abbas

Light upon Light

When you (atf) were born,

It was as if the sun rose again,

after a dark dark night.

When the oppressed had raised their hands to the sky

In devoted supplication

their voices trembling with emotion

their teary eyes witnessing the atrocities and oppression

generation after generation

and they called out to the slumbering souls

dead and deaf, not noticing, not responding...

Then you were born,

and it was said:

Say! Truth has come and falsehood has been vanquished!

and the dawn made its line on the darkened horizon

growing wider, rising higher

and the hopes rose with it

higher and higher...

here was the avenger of al 'Husayn,

the one who would avenge against those who tore the veils,

and set fire to the hearts of the believers.

Here was the water from the well,

into which the sorrows of his grandfather were silently shed,

that watered the flower of Narjis and Zahraa عليه السلام.

Then the darkened days fell upon us again,

and we were deprived of your presence,

and the sun hid its rays behind the clouds,

warming the hearts, which wilted at the separation,

casting your rays on humanity, sustaining the life of Islam.

The shadows cast by the clouds keeping the sun away

weighed upon, and darkened the days,

yet the lovers walked around in anticipation

in waiting, in hope

of the coming of dawn, the return of the awaited one.

And they remembered how each sin,

strikes him like an arrow,

thus they abstained.

And they felt his sorrow, and his tears,

for his followers, who locked him away by their deeds.

And they recalled how he witnesses their lives,

and they reformed.

And they hoped to join the ranks of his army,

thus they prepare.

Another Friday went by without your return,

then another, and another,

and the hopeful hearts broke again,

each time,

as they renewed their pledge of allegiance

and the tears streamed down, drowning their sorrow

and invigorating them with hope

inspiring them to serve humanity,

and serve their Lord,

and they said with new energy:

Hasten! Hasten O our Master, the Master of the era!

Though the days are dark, and the night is long,

The promise of your return keeps us going,

For you are he,

The awaited promise of truth,

The reviver of Islaam,

Light from radiant Light,

Light upon Light,

The spring and dawn of the believers.

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I don't usually read this section, but a few have stood out:

salam, ya ali madad and lanat upon the enemies of the ahlebeyt (as) guys

we have the door to the city of knowledge

they have the one who broke the door to the house of noor

we have the one who broke sword after sword and was blessed with the zulfiqar

they have the one who broke nothing but his courage and fled very fast, very far

we have the one who cried "saluni saluni"

they have the one who said "if not for ali, disaster would have befallen me"

we have the one who slept in the prophets bed

they have the one who insulted the prophet on his death bed

we have the one who gave charity in rukuh to the poor

they have the one who spent 20 years learing one verse and no more

we have the one called the lion of god, whose intercession we seek

they have the one who was only a lion in front of the meek

we have the one married to the noblest lady, the sayyeda

they have the one who practiced sodomy with the youth called afflah

we have the brother of the prophet, his wazeer and successor

they have saqifa, khalid and muawiyyah the opressor

we have the beauty and the truth and the light

they have less noor than the darkest of nights

we have the one to whom was said "man kun to maula"

they have the 3, may we have vengence at the raj'ah


"My Love for You is Bidah"

I want to love you,

But surely this is bidah

I want to hold you in my arms,

But surely this is bidah

I want to hold your hand

And feel your beard,

But surely this is bidah

We can play some cricket, as long as you are not a cheata

Cheating ruins the integrity of the game,

Even if your masoom cheating is not bidah

I want you to translate for me all night long,

The pages of al-Kafi

Of course it is only natural,

That the best Arabic-speaker is Paki

You can be certain,

That my love is sahih

Not even a bad translation,

Could possibly make it dha'if

Even though I am donned in black,

I desperately seek your love

You say I am among the people of hell,

But of course you are not at all smug

Imam Mahdi hates Arabs,

And girls surely mustn't read

Our ulama are praying wrong,

They are deviating our creed

Teach me how to do Istikhara,

And wallah I will learn

I cannot continue doing it the bidah way,

Unless I want to burn

Don't blame me for following a mujtahid,

Now I realize that he is not even worth your toe

But how could I have realized this,

Before knowing the true face of Tashayyu?

You said I was castrated,

But surely you are not

One wonders whether your pocket is filled,

With cricket bat or with [a completely benign word that doesn't somewhat rhyme with "not"]

Of course our love is forbidden,

Being that we are both male

But what hadith can you translate,

That says mutah can only be done with female?

One day you shall marry,

Lord knows you won't let her leave the home

And make sure you don't leave it either,

Joining protests is bidah, let's instead to go to cricket dome

So I will burn all my black clothes,

And stop paying khums to my marja

I will become Akhbari like you,

And recite our special Akhbari shahada

But of all the bidah I am guilty of,

And on this all the ahadith agree

The bidah which is most haraam,

Is my immortal love for thee


The first half is written from his perspective. The second half is written from our perspective.

"My Love for You is Shirk"

Side A (Him)

I spend my days in the chatroom,

Advertising my blog

I wake up for salatul layl,

Without an alarm clock

My blog has solid matn,

And as a narrator I'm thiqah

The link is in my signature,

Could my methods be any slickah?

I've even got a fan club,

In the form of my little brother

We bump each others posts,

Who says we don’t support each other?

If you don't like my posts,

I won't give you a good grading

I'll recycle my articles,

When popularity is fading

I don’t believe in ijtihad,

The truth requires no reason

If you think Khamenei is leader,

Then surely you must be teasin'

Who needs the Holy Book,

Hasbuna Kitab al-Kafi

Forget the Middle Eastern scholars,

I'm the American Imam al-Shafi

Side B (Me)

If you were at the top of a ladder,

I would climb all its rungs

It's like I’m North Korean,

And you are Kim Il-sung

You are my Marmoolak,

And I am your Jackson

You are like macisaac,

Only you're not Anglo-Saxon

I won’t quote anymore Sunni hadiths,

Because I know that you don’t like it

Meanwhile you’re competing with Wahabis,

To see how much BS you can emit

In my mind you are a legend,

Much like Bhooka Bhairiya

Just because you have better akhlaq,

Doesn’t mean I’m gonna spare ya

You Akhbaris always compliment,

Each other on your knowledge

In spite of how much I love you,

I’m not down with all that garbage

You’re reviving al-Islam?

Well I’m taking out the “al”

Farsi has no definite articles,

And you’re ajam too, pal

You see I’m down with the leader,

And that means just what you think

But in spite of all that,

I take you over him in a blink

My wife gets jealous,

Because I always talk about you

Jondab even more so,

His feelings for you are see-through

Maybe the Christians are right,

And God did have a son

The only problem with their view,

Is that Jesus wasn’t the one

No it was you who God chose,

To be his representative

To give guidance to us mortals,

Whose hadith knowledge is tentative

I’m big into bidah,

As much as some may be irked

They also hate my love for you,

Because my love for you is shirk


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1st Choice: Father of Palestine by sis Blissful


There he sat watching his children in his heart

Picturing their laughs and songs.


His eyes had reached the broken, polluted sky

He still saw God.


The moments he shared with his wife

her caressing hand on his cheek.


The shots did not stop him from hearing:

Come, these arms will catch you from below.


The blood oozing from the cracks

Of a heart freshly punctured


One by one, his offspring fell

Like dominoes.


His child's face fell infront of his; the warmth of blood

Meeting at last.


The soldier that walked away from a life

Lives. Freshly taken.


the tears stung the ruptured wrinkles

which once folded at the site of his daughters' eyes.


From his soul cried out

God we are coming, accept this sacrifice.

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Guest EndlessEndeavor


Yesterday, they sent me a king,

One whose praises they all seem to sing,

He told me he could grant me some wealth,

And if I served well, some more for my health,

But with this king, I was not content,

So him, like the others, away I sent.

I met another who offered me fame,

Said all the world's tongues could utter my name,

All it would take was my obliging hand,

And he'd turn my lowliness into something so grand,

But with this king, I was not content,

So him, like the others, away I sent.

A third one arrived a fortnight before,

Met my humble abode with a knock on my door,

He told me he'd make my children my pride,

And in a house of gold, he'd make me reside,

But with this king, I was not content,

So him, like the others, away I sent.

Like this they kept coming and as always, they went,

And my heart wished not to serve any king the world sent,

And so in this frustration, I sought a way out,

I went on a journey with my luggage of doubt,

Perhaps I was too harsh on the kings that had come?

Should I have listened a little to some?

But now on this journey, it was too late,

And to turn them away, it seemed was my fate.

In the midst of this voyage I still had no goal,

For I knew not where to find the cure for my soul,

So I stopped for a while and stepped onto the ground,

And a scent filled my heart with beauty profound,

And as I walked on the sand to follow this scent,

The weight on my shoulders seemed to relent,

'Til I reached a sight that was ice to my eyes,

In this heat of the sun under heaven's red skies.

I saw a gold light where the sun hit the dome,

And a red flag like a sign on the door of a home,

And masses of servants running to their master inside,

Where I thought the royals of this land would reside,

But I looked again and saw no servants around,

Only kings and queens in their dignity, crowned,

So, confused, I asked where the servants might be,

And one man told me that the servant was he,

But another man came and said, "Servant? That's me,"

Then another and another, and they all said the same,

And soon every royal in that place made that claim.

Finally, a woman told me the truth,

She was the wisest and most modest of youth,

She said that these people were not kings or queens,

Until they had served her son through their means,

She told me that his service turned slaves into kings,

The way a goldsmith turns stones into rings,

She showed me why other kings, I had turned down,

Why each one was simply a slave in a gown-

What king needs his servants and roams the low earth?

The true king's servants struggle to meet him since birth.

Like a lost orphan who seeks a father's embrace,

I'd serve all my life for the peace in that place,

So here I stand, still waiting outside,

And by his principals, I try to abide,

So that maybe one day, we might finally meet,

And this king of kings, I might humbly greet,

And perhaps he might accept me as his,

Maybe he'll turn my pain into bliss,

For the servants of a king of kings feel no pain,

The cure for their ailments is the love of Hussein (a.s).

Birth of Noor

The morning breeze whispers

And ‘tis melodious call

To the sound of its merriment, awakened has all

The scent of amber and oud, laced in air

Welcomes the beloved, in a manner so rare

If my eyes were blessed with purity of sense

Then the wonders of today, in my poetry I could condense

The gathering of Prophets, the majesty that poured

As angels bowed down, before their Lord

Thanking their Master, for the gracious regard

To religion has come, a leader, a teacher & a guard

The priceless felicity in both heavens and earth

Ah! The finest celebrations, that comes with your birth.

O Beloved! O Rasul Allah!

Your luminous face, has brought to this world such light

The sun, moon and the stars are shamed, at slight.

Your precious name, is bounded with such love

That every time my lips read “Muhammad” I stand in awe of

The Lord who blessed us, through your noble existence

My words fall short in saluting His supremacy and excellence.

& to celebrate splendour on this adored day,

We greet our beloved through salawat-bouquet

Allahuma Sale Muhammad va Aali Muhammad


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Need I Say Any More?

Need I tell you the tale

Of the gallant son

Shall I break your heart

By his unquenched thirst

Need I tell you the secret

By which he held the flag

Shall I cause you death

By showing you the severed hands

Need I read you the will

That bequeathed flag, water skin and glory

Shall I cause you grief

At the wail of the unquenched niece

Need I make you blind

By the arrow in the eye

Shall I cause you darkness

At the falling of the moon

Need I give you a veil

To carry the hope of the sister

Shall I cause you to mourn

For the loss of the helper of Imam

Need I ask for your help

To raise the blood drenched flag

Shall I dry your tears

When I call you my brother

Need I tell you the name

Of the master who lost his back

Shall I have the breath

To say why he died thirsty at a shore

Need I say any more

This is Abul Fadhl Abbas


by habib e najjaar,

Ya Zainab


The sun is setting, ya Zainab

do you remember?

Just like Karbalaa

the sky is weeping, again..

It feels your pain, ya Zainab

and cries in unison with you

but no


Under this red sky you have no true abode

and you are ultimately alone.

Tell me about your sufferings, ya Zainab

Is that Aun and Mohammad's empty mattress?

Tell me, what did they do to you?

Show me the face they beat, ya Zainab

and the tears they induced.

What is that you are hearing, ya Zainab?

The echo of Sakinah's desperate cry?

No, Zainab, no

She is gone too.

Is that Husayn's smiling face you see?

No no

It's the brother that your grandfather wept over, as he was born.

Where will you go, ya Zainab?

Rasool is gone, long gone

and Sajjaad is broken in body and soul.

Run into the desert

run, ya Zainab

and cry like you never have before

Cry so that the fountain of rage and hurt escapes you, ya Zainab

My lady, what has happened?

Why do you feel shame?

Cry so that even the headless body of Husayn hears you

Cry so that if Abbaas had hands, he would raise them in supplication for you.

Cry so that Rasool feels the pain as he rests in Madinah

My lady, she has come to comfort you

Can you see her in the distance?

This is what you need, ya Zainab

Go and embrace her arms

and tell her your sufferings

Embrace her, ya Zainab

for she has come to you at last.

by Blissful

Quenched At Last

Many sons have been born, but none like this one,

Whose bravery and loyalty shines as bright as the sun.

On that day, the son of a brave lion, of Bani Hashim, the moon,

Sets out to fetch the children water, relief is coming soon.

He charges through the ranks, slicing them like butter,

With fear and cowardice, the enemy hearts flutter.

To bring him down, they must cheat, oppress and lie,

And the assault begins with the arrow shot into his eye.

Two deathly strikes to my heart when they cut off his hands,

Two blows to my soul, as he lay bleeding on the desert sands.

The flag that was held high, now comes to half mast,

As they plot and plan how to finish this dauntless lion fast.

The blood gushes from his wounds in immeasurable pain,

Yet his mission remains to quench the children of Hussain.

They then pierce the water skin, that carried hope and water,

Determined to persist in their animalistic slaughter.

“Ya Sayyidi, Ya Imami!” a call to the brother and master,

A last wish to be granted as his life drained out faster.

Don’t take me back to camp as I have failed to quench the thirsty hopes,

And the children will not be able to bear the sight of my corpse.

The weight of my body I will not make you carry and bear,

When there is none with whom your burdens you can share.

The time has come, my brother, let me lie on the sand,

I know you have none left to assist you from your faithful band.

Please wipe my eye, as I cannot see you through this blood,

The arrow that pierced one eye caused the other to flood.

Allow me the pleasure of gazing once more upon your face,

Let me see the one whose love they cannot erase.

Abbaas, fulfill one more wish O noble son of my father,

Today for once, don’t call me master, simply ‘Brother’.

Like the cooing at sunset of a gentle and beautiful dove,

With his last breath, he fulfills one more wish for his love.

From Allah we are, and to Him we must surely return,

Your killers have been promised in eternal hell to burn.

Ah! I have lost my support and my backbone,

All day you were by my side, now I am alone.

The shores of the Euphrates with your blood are drenched;

O Saaqi of the thirsty, at Kawthar you have been quenched...

by habib e najjaar

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Enter Muharram

And when the Barking Dog died

We saw the new tzadik arise

His face kissed and adored by the Prophet

His rights stolen for profit

Inherited by the Increasing One

Increasing only in iniquity

Inherited only because he was the Dog's son

Will we never have serenity?

And as the sun rose on a bright day

The High One's son arose to pave the way

For the future of revolutions

Last-ditch solutions

Fighting knowing you're at loss

Fighting for your values at the highest cost

I hear there's support for me in Kufa

And hence I must make my way there

But I know support for me will disappear

Like a moon behind the clouds near

But our light will only reappear

Our message will stay clear

But today the light dies

And my spirit will swim through the skies

My blood will seep

Into the earth so deep

My special companions will lie next to me

My partisans in Kufa will surely spring into action

Though long after my sacrifice has been sanctioned

O Lord

I give my life to you

Cut me up

In a thousand pieces

And you will only receive a thousand voices

All simultaneously in praise

This nightmare is simply a phase

Until I am admitted to the heavens for eternal delight

Let me be an example to my partisans

For they are my people I leave behind

As I die here on this bloodied earth

Here in Karbala', the Land of Sorrow

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