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In the Name of God بسم الله
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Iraqi's are fighting hard, they always have and they seem to always will. I guess that leaves a legacy in itself that they're fighting for their nation. People are dying, the government army are attacking them with machine guns and other types of operatives. Communities are falling apart... At some point you just think to yourself, is anything going to change? As an Iraqi woman, with full love to my country, and its history, it physically is distressing, and mentally painful to see this happening to my family, to my communities. Protesting has maybe had an affect in other countries, but with a government like Iraqs... Whats bound to happen, anyway??
In the name of God, the Beneficent, the Merciful, This is a poem dedicated to the death anniversary of the tragic murder of Imam Musa Al Kadhim, Baghdad’s prisoner written by my humble self. Oh master of Kadmiya, Oh beloved of Zahra, There was no funeral like yours Ya Musa, A murdered prisoner poisoned by a tyrant killer. And what a prisoner is kept in this manner, Let me words paint for your eyes a picture, And colour this canvas with the gems of your tears, He is kept in Baghdad’s most narrow prison, For 14 years no fresh air enters, Like a flower he has withered. He cries each time he moves bound in chains, Yet only deaf ears and dead souls hear his pains, As he ingests this poison, The Earth trembles as his whole body shakes, This prisoner will never awake. And the Muezzin as he gives the Adhaan at Fajr, Baghdad celebrates the death of a prisoner, A law breaker who has been captured, Unknowing to them that he is Islam’s protector. What a prisoner who in a foreign land has been captured, The one who has several sons and daughters his body is carried by strangers, No one is there to carry his coffin on their shoulders, The Imam of the world and at his funeral there are no mourners. There’s no other coffin who’s still bound in chains even after his last breath, His shroud covered in blood, A captive even after his death, The daughters of Kadhim cannot rest, They can still smell their father’s scent. When a person dies, Surrounds his deathbed his family, Together they prepared their body to be buried, Yet this prisoner has nobody, Labourers to Baghdad’s bridge carry his body. As his mother Zahra cries this son of mine has died lonely and thirsty, With cuffs and chains encased around his body, Oh people this is the descendant of your Prophet, A great grandson of Ali, Do not show this brutality, For he has never shown the world anything but mercy. Oh Ridha I urge you come quickly, To bury your father in Baghdad’s city, For you are the next guardian of this message of purity, We will all grieve for your father for eternity. Oh my master Imam Mehdi, There’s no day like the day of Ashura, And there’s no years like the years by Kadim, The lonely prisoner, Oh Allah, I pray to you to fulfil my prayers, Through the loving memory of Babul Hawaij, The gate to wishes and prayers, Let me go to his door and raise my hands in Khadimiya, And my tears flow for the torture he endured.
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