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In the Name of God بسم الله

Last Chance

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  1. An orphan is the name of a child who lost his mother, But what is the name of a mother who loses a child? Crushed between the door and the wall along with the souls of Hassanain, Robbed of her child, her right, her husband's, she fights through the pain. Her name is Fatima. The one whose essence mankind will never reach, For God Himself has shielded her with a protection that none can breach, Mistress of my soul and the women of the worlds, With her name and her hand the secret of this life unfurls, The strength of my heart and the strength of Haidar, The strength of the lion who conquered Khaybar, For who else can converse with such beauty and power, Fight the usurpers after the loss of Mohsen, the wilted flower? Her name is az-Zahra, the radiant light, illuminating a path, For those who want to see and be away from God's wrath, For he who angers az-Zahra has evoked the Messenger's displeasure, And no doubt, God's own wrath which follows is that beyond any measure, For who is so aligned with the will of her Creator, Which woman did He create, that other than her there is no greater? Her name is al-Batool, unsurpassed in every way, Be it the chastity, the virtue, or the worship she did display, No man equalled her strength the day she fought her right, Look around you now- see the destruction of Fatima's might. For which woman could have such eloquence and knowledge of the Book? Fadak was hers then and now, no matter what they took. Quoting the verses to them that were revealed to her very door, Every lie, every plot of theirs and tactic, into shreds she tore. For she is as-Siddiqa, the truthful, no matter who calls himself this too, A name is just a name but the truth lies in what we do, Ali is with the truth, truly this is no lie, And the truth is with Ali, but she will shortly die, Leaving behind a house that is both so full and bare, Full of Ali's grief, but of a mother's warmth, left bare, A homely nest no more, for its mother is no longer, A house that used to buzz with life, now remains mourning and sombre. Hassan holds her feet and Hussain cries on her chest, An imagine after which the heart of Ali will never find rest, Zainab and Kulthum sob as they await the darkness of night, One final farewell they crave before facing a new plight. And Ali...? A broken man, half a human, dealt his biggest blow, He sits with his head in his hands, and tears of anguish now freely flow. The lion, the warrior, the hero that roared with such might, Now quietly sobs for her pain and her loss, a flame of grief now alight. Two souls intertwined...now world's apart, A long journey of loneliness Ali has to start, Her orphans, her prayer mat, the memories of her days, With these he will survive, and he now says... 'A flower, nipped in the bud. From paradise it came, and to paradise it went, but has left its fragrance in my mind'.
  2. Her Name is Fatima An orphan is the name of a child who lost his mother, But what is the name of a mother who loses a child? Crushed between the door and the wall along with the souls of Hassanain, Robbed of her child, her right, her husband's, she fights through the pain. Her name is Fatima. The one whose essence mankind will never reach, For God Himself has shielded her with a protection that none can breach, Mistress of my soul and the women of the worlds, With her name and her hand the secret of this life unfurls, The strength of my heart and the strength of Haidar, The strength of the lion who conquered Khaybar, For who else can converse with such beauty and power, Fight the usurpers after the loss of Mohsen, the wilted flower? Her name is az-Zahra, the radiant light, illuminating a path, For those who want to see and be away from God's wrath, For he who angers az-Zahra has evoked the Messenger's displeasure, And no doubt, God's own wrath which follows is that beyond any measure, For who is so aligned with the will of her Creator, Which woman did He create, that other than her there is no greater? Her name is al-Batool, unsurpassed in every way, Be it the chastity, the virtue, or the worship she did display, No man equalled her strength the day she fought her right, Look around you now- see the destruction of Fatima's might. For which woman could have such eloquence and knowledge of the Book? Fadak was hers then and now, no matter what they took. Quoting the verses to them that were revealed to her very door, Every lie, every plot of theirs and tactic, into shreds she tore. For she is as-Siddiqa, the truthful, no matter who calls himself this too, A name is just a name but the truth lies in what we do, Ali is with the truth, truly this is no lie, And the truth is with Ali, but she will shortly die, Leaving behind a house that is both so full and bare, Full of Ali's grief, but of a mother's warmth, left bare, A homely nest no more, for its mother is no longer, A house that used to buzz with life, now remains mourning and sombre. Hassan holds her feet and Hussain cries on her chest, An imagine after which the heart of Ali will never find rest, Zainab and Kulthum sob as they await the darkness of night, One final farewell they crave before facing a new plight. And Ali...? A broken man, half a human, dealt his biggest blow, He sits with his head in his hands, and tears of anguish now freely flow. The lion, the warrior, the hero that roared with such might, Now quietly sobs for her pain and her loss, a flame of grief now alight. Two souls intertwined...now world's apart, A long journey of loneliness Ali has to start, Her orphans, her prayer mat, the memories of her days, With these he will survive, and he now says... 'A flower, nipped in the bud. From paradise it came, and to paradise it went, but has left its fragrance in my mind'.
  3. A ferocious warrior, a soft spoken sage, No other man could be both in any era or age, A servant so humble, an emperor so great, Never has a man possessed both traits so innate, The father of orphans, the prince of a nation, Two faces in this world which have no relation, And yet, my Master, you were all of these things, Everything and more, your virtues gushing like springs, A man has only one heart, so how were you, you? How are you everything, how can you be true? I sat at the gate of my heart just as you sat at yours, And He showed me how all this in your heart flows. For if a man sits as watchful as you of his heart, And no iota of doubt can take it apart, Then that man is not certain, but certainty itself, And if he defeats the whole of disbelief alone, Then that man is not faithful, but the very faith itself, And if you lifted the gate which forty men couldn't, Then you are not strong but rather strength itself, And if you demonstrate the impossible, Then surely you are the hand of God Himself, And I have no words to describe your words, Suffice to say you are the word of God itself. An eternity could pass yet your mystery will always be, You are the blinding light that allows us to see, The deafening truth that allows us to hear, The saint whom we call in any worry or fear, No words can describe you and no mind can perceive, Your justice no judge or wise man can achieve, And your lineage...where can I even begin? Divinity and godliness and cures are found therein, And why not, when their mother is their mother, The radiant soul, and there will never be another, And your light is the light of God's most adored, The messenger you guarded with your life and your sword, You are Ali- elevated in every way, Second to none but one, no matter what they say, The spark that ignites every beat of my heart, The beauty of both worlds- God's own work of art, The victor in battle and of the hearts of the pure, Your allegiance is the promise of a future secure, Your name is my cure in affliction and pain, And I will call out to you again and again, Let them mock and deny and say what they please, I'll smile as you rescue me from hardship to ease. Tonight and always, my heart overflows, Your love is infinite and within me it grows, The more I know you, the less I can contain, Abu Thar was in love- he wasn't insane, A badge of honour and a mark of pride, He couldn't conceal it even if he tried, You are the wealth which can't be taken away, And so we will praise you all night and all day, Judgement will come and still we won't finish, Your virtue and glory will never diminish. So I ask one last time, how are you, you? A sage and a lion, how can both be true? How can these virtues fit in one heart? And I have only one answer- you are God's work of art.
  4. A ferocious warrior, a soft spoken sage, No other man could be both in any era or age, A servant so humble, an emperor so great, Never has a man possessed both traits so innate, The father of orphans, the prince of a nation, Two faces in this world which have no relation, And yet, my Master, you were all of these things, Everything and more, your virtues gushing like springs, A man has only one heart, so how were you, you? How are you everything, how can you be true? I sat at the gate of my heart just as you sat at yours, And He showed me how all this in your heart flows. For if a man sits as watchful as you of his heart, And no iota of doubt can take it apart, Then that man is not certain, but certainty itself, And if he defeats the whole of disbelief alone, Then that man is not faithful, but the very faith itself, And if you lifted the gate which forty men couldn't, Then you are not strong but rather strength itself, And if you demonstrate the impossible, Then surely you are the hand of God Himself, And I have no words to describe your words, Suffice to say you are the word of God itself. An eternity could pass yet your mystery will always be, You are the blinding light that allows us to see, The deafening truth that allows us to hear, The saint whom we call in any worry or fear, No words can describe you and no mind can perceive, Your justice no judge or wise man can achieve, And your lineage...where can I even begin? Divinity and godliness and cures are found therein, And why not, when their mother is their mother, The radiant soul, and there will never be another, And your light is the light of God's most adored, The messenger you guarded with your life and your sword, You are Ali- elevated in every way, Second to none but one, no matter what they say, The spark that ignites every beat of my heart, The beauty of both worlds- God's own work of art, The victor in battle and of the hearts of the pure, Your allegiance is the promise of a future secure, Your name is my cure in affliction and pain, And I will call out to you again and again, Let them mock and deny and say what they please, I'll smile as you rescue me from hardship to ease. Tonight and always, my heart overflows, Your love is infinite and within me it grows, The more I know you, the less I can contain, Abu Thar was in love- he wasn't insane, A badge of honour and a mark of pride, He couldn't conceal it even if he tried, You are the wealth which can't be taken away, And so we will praise you all night and all day, Judgement will come and still we won't finish, Your virtue and glory will never diminish. So I ask one last time, how are you, you? A sage and a lion, how can both be true? How can these virtues fit in one heart? And I have only one answer- you are God's work of art.
  5. I was wondering if anybody had any good recommendations for books/lectures/resources regarding parenting, but for newborns in particular. Many of the books I have come across cover parenting for slightly older children or toddlers but I have struggled to find much for the beginning stages for first time parents. The resources can be from Muslims or non-Muslims, although I would prefer an Islamic theme. Any other tips or advice are most welcome too. Thank you.
  6. InshaAllah I will be posting art pieces and calligraphy that I have tried to create, here. I would appreciate constructive feedback Here are a few pieces:
  7. Easypersian.com has hundreds of free lessons. Also theres a brilliant book called Colloquial Persian which can be found on Amazon. Listening to Farsi lectures/TV serials etc also helps.
  8. I learnt briefly at Hawza but one of the books that really helped was this one.
  9. I was wondering if anyone could please recommend some simple Farsi books for someone at beginner/intermediate level (I have completed books 1-4 from the Jami'atul Mustafa series). I am happy to read any type of book- fiction/non-fiction, novels, etc to get more practice and experience- ideally books that can be ordered or accessed online. Thank you.
  10. Just downloaded this app- it's brilliant. May you be rewarded abundantly inshAllah.
  11. خیلی ممنون @shadow_of_light
  12. I would be extremely grateful if someone could find me a translation for this beautiful poem: https://ganjoor.net/shahriar/gozidegh/sh2/ Thank you
  13. Alone, in the dark, a young girl is weeping, Not knowing what her heart has always been seeking, So, now, to her Lord, she is finally speaking, Revealing the secrets she thought she'd been keeping. Her Lord listens to her with indescribable love, He watches her raise her weak hands, above. "My Lord, I beg you to enter my heart, To you, all my sorrows, I wish to impart, This emptiness, I can bear it no more, I feel I am drowning and you are my shore." She buries her wet face in the palms of her hands, For she knows that He, alone, understands, But she wonders if she is worthy of His mercy, so great, She wonders if forgiveness and love are her fate. "My Lord, I have neglected my soul, I never gave heed to my purpose or goal, And now, I need You to set my soul right, I have no-one but You in the midst of this night." Tears flow from her eyes like a thunderous river, As she awaits the reply from this Generous Giver, But He waits and He watches as she continues to cry, So she calls desperately into the night sky, "My Lord, You are everything I need, Of any happiness, You are the seed, I yearn for You to make my heart whole, To take Your place, this world previously stole." With nothing more to give, the girl gets to her feet, As longing for her Lord fills her every heartbeat. She raises her hands, one final time, Her soul weighed down by her forgetful crime. "My Lord, You are my only, last hope, Without you, I know, I won't be able to cope, To feel Your presence, my soul, I can sell, All I want is that in my heart, You dwell. My Lord, I want You to open my soul's eyes, And to put an end to my grievous cries, You said that Your friends feel no sorrow, nor pain, So befriend me, God, let this night not pass in vain." As she tires from this begging, her eyes slowly close, And she feels that her yearning, now surely, He knows, Her Lord looks lovingly at the slumbering youth, And knows that her words carried nothing but truth. So He enters her soul and whispers some words, Sweeter than the chirping of awakening birds, "...Call upon me; I will answer you," (40: 60) And more than this, what else could be true?
  14. How I must beg, I do not know, Now I've learnt to let these tears flow, For I've begged you and with you I've pleaded, And maybe your nearness, some others have needed, But you know who I am and you know what I need, Is it the pain when I feel my heart bleed? Tell me how to beg, for I do not know, How do I see your golden dome glow? My tears have been shed and my soul has felt sorrow, And desperation has set for news of tomorrow, And disappointments of which I have lost count, Aren't these reasons enough? Too small in amount? But how I must beg, I do not know, So now I beg you to teach me and show. To your love, I've submitted, for how can one not? And of my life's story, I've made you the plot, I've discarded of any beginning or end, For I know that my heart, only you can mend, But to beg you better, I just don't know how, A lifetime's attempts and in shame, I still bow. Regarding my worth, I will not speak, For in you and your service, my own worth, I seek, But tell me what in my pleading is wrong, Is the pain in my love for you not strong? I will not ask you, from me, what you want, For what king can gain from his servant's servant? All I ask is, my emptiness you understand, My craving to weep on Karbala's sand, The heavenly walk, baynol haramayn, To shout with the millions, "Labbaika ya Hussain", To drown in your love and to die in that state, Be worthy of smelling the scent of your gate, To look up into your once-red, blue sky, And have no sense but to helplessly cry, In awe of your beauty and the fact that I'm here, In the hope that I might return in a year, And the realisation that this isn't a dream, Blinded by this love and your dome's golden beam, The heat of the sun striking all those in black, To walk towards your shrine and never look back, Relive your sorrow and make it my own, Watch your black flag in the wind, being blown, To feel a long-lost peace in my heart, Forgetting that from here, we'll all once depart, Engrave these memories deep in my soul, For my emptiness to fill, making me whole. And for the rest of my life, to live on these tears, If you'd just end the waiting I've done for these years. Allahumma irzoqni ziyaratel Hussein ((عليه السلام).)
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