Muharram, the month of love
And you are the first
that the days of Hajj
You stretched it to forty days and you are satisfied with ten
ah,
I will miss understanding this point
Hajj is half complete
In Estelam Hajar Vanhadi
And in Karbala
With a kiss on the dagger, you finished.
your death
The origin of the history of love
The beginning of red
It is the standard of life.
The line begins with your blood:
From the time you stood, religion started
And when you fell
The right arose
And “the truth” was correct
And from the flow of your blood
The foundation of oppression weakened
in the fall of your death
Give birth to eternal spring
plant grow
balid tree
And there is no branch
which does not have a red flower
And if not
It is not a branch
There is firewood left on the tree! .
You have revealed the secret of death
Which knot did not come loose with your nail?
Sharaf runs after you
You, beyond intimacy
prayer, intention
Oneness, oneness
Oh green!
O red green!
You are more honorable than pure
More noble than any soil
O hard dessert
O hard sweet!
Hadid’s arm!
Sahin Mizan!
The meaning of the book, the meaning of the Quran!
Look at the chain of interpretations;
Your steps are the weight of hay
And the support of the heavens
Where is God flowing in you?
Are verses coming from your lips?
Wow!
Wow from you, wow!
There is no end to my surprise with you
How with a thimble
of words
Can the ocean be measured?
let’s cry
Your blood continued in our tears
And our tears became polished
It became a sword
And he sat in the fountain of oppression
You are the Red Quran
“Blood verse” of bravery
You wrote on the stretched skin of the desert
and writings
It became a farm
With red clusters
And the world became a farm
With cluster, cluster, blood
and each stem:
Hand, sickle and sword
And he eradicated the root of oppression
And here
And always
The field is red
Oh Thar Allah
That garden is mined
that you planted in the Tafteh desert
With red fruits
With flowing streams of blood
with the red bushes of martyrdom
And those brave green cedars;
It is a garden that should be seen with the eyes of love
Akbar
the spruce
Bufadayil
And full red palms
It is not clear
It’s a virtue
It was separated from the luggage of the Mehr caravan
On the other side of the river
And your words and look
Polyset
which brings Amedami back to himself
And as for the skirt:
Borrowed skulls
Finding refuge in longing
ignites;
From the envy of the rosy head of Har
which is on your lap
O murderer!
after you
“Goodness” is red
And the crying of Suk
dagger
And your sadness is the baggage of travel
to Nakja Abad
And your blood trail
a way
which goes straight to God’s house.
You are from the blood tribe
And we are descended from madness
Your blood is sold in the sand
and boiled from stone
O garden of insight
Oppression has no more beautiful enemy than you
And Mazloum, a helper more familiar than you
In the history compression class
your karbala
There is no confrontation
It is a big system.
It is circumambulation.
end of speech
It is the end of me
you have no end
This post is written by monese_ghamgosar