Martyrdom of Imam Hasan Askari (A.S.) [Poem]

Imam Hasan Askari (A.S.) the Eleventh Holy Imam and the Infallible Leader of the Muslims who safeguarded the Islamic Sharia from the innovations spread by the ruling Abbasid caliphs was martyred by poisoning on the Eighth of Rabi' al-awwal 260 A.H. (approximately: 6 December 846 - 4 January 874) at Samarrah(Iraq) by the Abbasid caliph Al-Mutawakkil. His given name was Hasan ibn ‘Alī ibn Muhammad. His title al-Askari derives from the Arabic word Asker which means military.He was given this title mainly because the city he lived in (Samarra) was a military camp.

Martyrdom of Imam Hasan Askari (A.S.) [Poem]

Martyrdom of Imam Hasan Askari (A.S.) [Poem]

By: Dr. Hasan Najafi
Again, again, and again and again;
See how revisits to the Prophet's House the pain.
Martyred this time is its Eleventh Member,
In whatever grade, all are with prophetic character.
Hasan his name, Askari his fame
Because at his command an army of angels came.
At its sight the tyrant caliph was terrified,
A little earlier had showed to Imam his army in pride.
Having had such a power, lo, he didn't utilize;
At such a patience the earth coiled in globe round the paradise.
His lineage goes to Zahra, Ali, and the Prophet;
Age yields to him, time surrenders in respect.
They stand in their time of their time's Muhammad;
Mohammad himself said: My sons all are Muhammad.
The patience of Imam fatigued the tyrant,
Of the rightful authority of the Imam he wasn't ignorant.
Prayers are not accepted if one tipsy,
Drink your love and pray, the difference see!
In the elixir of your love waves an ocean,
Heaven the coast, paradise set in motion,
You are that moon that knows no eclipse,
Sinners from hell, a ray of your light will release.
Wages of the Prophet for his toil of guidance
It is your love directed to us in God's ordinance.
In the dark pit of the grave where is the light?
Your love is the candle and shattered goes the plight.
Who says death, horrible?
In your love, in your presence it is beautiful.
I am ready to die time and again
I know you come, to see you is all the gain.
You are father of the Imam of our time,
Flows the basket too as flows the river of time.
Put an end the secret weapon to your life,
To the tyrant your existence was anathema rife.
There is no candle that goes unwept,
Glitters you tomb in goal, tears of love the floor carpet.
You are the heir of all Prophets and Books,
Underneath your love flow the brooks,
Because over your love heaven hooks.