Paradise Lost

انه من المهم ان نتذكر طيلة الوقت مصاب امامنا الحسين عليه السلام، و هذا القصيدة اثرت في بشكر كبير لشدة المعاني التي بين سطورها و المشاعر التي يعبر فيها الشاعر عن حب ابا عبدالله. هذا القصيدة للشاعرمهدي جناح الكاظمي و الاداء الصوتي للحاج باسم الكربلائي اقصد معي شجر الأراك لفاطمٍ.... معها على جسد الحسين ننوح ضَم الإباء و المكرمات جميعها.... في كربلاء ما ضم منك ضريح و تهاوت الأملاكُ فوقك سجداً.... و سعى المسيح لكربلاء و الروح يدري المسيح و أمه من قبله.... فالطف في إنجيله مشروح موسى هوى صعقاً عليك و طوله.... و بكى بطوفان المحاجر نوح أسفاً تقطع لا لفرقة يوسفٍ.... يعقوب بل لك جفنه مقروح و الريح مولة تجول بكربلاء.... نشرت ثوائبها عليك الريح و الشمس دائرةٌ و نحرك كعبةٌ ....تقتاها زمزم جفنها مجروح و أظلة العرش اقشعر كيانها.... و تصدعت منها عليك صروح أحنت لمصرعك الحظيرة هامها.... و دماك بالأفق المبين تلوح بقيت ثلاثاً فوق جسم محمدٍ.... زمرُ الملائك تقتدي و تروح جزعي عليك جميل صبرٍ إنما.... لمصائبك الصبر الجميل قبيح يا أيها المصباح كلُ ظلالةٍ ....لما طلعت ظلامها مفضوح يا كبرياء الحق أنت إمامه ....و ...

My ability to survive in these surroundings has reached its limits, as I move from one place to another I feel death creeps into my veins, poisoning the dark blood inside it, leaving my nervous system separated from the real world, like myself. I struggle every morning as I depart from my sweet single bed, knowing that it is my only shelter that keeps me from others. My sanctuary when I feel in need of protection, and the place where I regain my powers after a long day of survival. Still, departing has become a daily necessity, like a mother leaving her child to let him find his chances through life, so hard is the separation, but so important at the same time. For the advantage of the both parties. After I put on my dark shaded clothes I check myself for five seconds at the mirror, to remind myself who I am, and in what face people will see me today, then I am good to go. No pretty face can hide those features of my dead spirit, but I do know how to trick people with that false smile,...

Broken pieces of little lives thrown at the streets. Once it was raining. Purification is given. Then, there came the mud, wet mud Staining the stepping forward little lights, Stained steps with hopelessness to continue, To tremble by the sharp pieces of dead lives. Broken by the loud sounds of rejection, Of forced powers, like angry winds, Taking of the smiling flowers of spring, Killing the dying trees of October. Leaving Nothing. A lonely leaf among the black woods Struggling to find the city lights That will burn her, leave her ashes On the muddy street. Fallen. With rain falling upon her head. Smashing the dreamy Thoughts Letting them die on the shinning blackness Haunted streets, sounds of creeping. A new leaf. Finding her way. To the nearest dumpster. To be lost forever.