مظلوم حسين جانم | Mulla Nazar Al Qatari | Arabic and Farsi

Blessed Tree Media brings to you Madhloom Husayn Jaanam | مظلوم حسين جانم : A nauha based on the matam beats of the Arabian-African Coasts and Persia.

Tune in and share widely a beautiful recitation of world renowned reciter Mulla Nazar al Qatari

‪@nazaralqatari‬
#husayn #karbala
With English Subtitles

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Translation:
I swear by God who spread out the earth and created the heavens
And by the revelation and signs Gabriel brought
I call out with nobility until the Day of Resurrection
That I shall die with dignity and not humiliation, never!
If the bloodthirsty blade should sever my head
If the sword drawn for battle should cut out my liver
If they send a three-pronged arrow instead of water to my fresh flower
If through my brother's pain the enemy should break my back
Murdered by tears, taken prisoner by hardships
Will you write my sorrows in Karbala with mere pen and ink?
Never! Grief can only be written in flowing tears
If my enemy surrounds me and shoots me with arrows
If my head, shoulders, and body must bear the strikes of swords
If a stone should strike my brow and cover my luminous face in blood
If instead of water, my cruel enemy gives fire
If I die a hundred times from my son’s burning fever
They wronged me, killed me, and forgot who I am
Until I lived in a world of grief and suffering
All the sorrows of the world have gathered here
By God, who willed me to suffer a hundred cuts
Two hundred spears and swords did not hurt my body
I will never take the hand of my oppressors or accept humiliation
Even if they bring all the inhabitants of the heavens and the earth to fight me

(Husayn, my life, how you were wronged…)

I did not break my pledge to worship God alone
I swear, I never worshipped anyone but God
I swear, I am the son of the Lion of God and the son of Fatima
An Arab, an Alid, from the line of the Quraysh, of the tree
The son of a veteran of Uhud and Badr, a son of Fatima, of the moon
I gave my everything, my seventy-two companions gave their lives
It is I with crimson face
It is I with blood gushing from my throat
It is I with thirst like a dagger
It is I with the grief of the youth
It is I in the dust of the desert
It is I beneath the horses' hooves
I am beloved to God who guides
But in Karbala I am alone, stripped, and covered in dust
Strange that I should taste death while I am thirsty
Who is there to protect me, my beard dyed with blood?
I am here with severed veins and shredded heart
I am here with my little child, my thirsty infant
I am here with my imprisoned daughter
I am here with the Ever-Living, the Eternal One
Does anyone worship the Lord above as I do?
For I am the niche of the one for whom the blade came while he was in prayer
When my child was slain and by family taken captive, when my neck was cut
When I was slain thirsty beside the river’s waters
I am here with many wounds, I am here with the verses of the Qur’an
I am here with the parched tongues, I am here with the tips of the arrows
Let all come and see our stand, our nobility, and our dignity

(Husayn, my life, how you were wronged…)

Here all can see what became of me
Would the Prophet, the best of humankind
Be pleased by these claws tearing into Husayn?
By God, by the Messenger, by Ali son of Abi Talib, and by Zahra the Pure
And my brother Hasan al-Mujtaba, the paragon of virtue
My brother, how do you feel seeing the horses trample my chest?
And my seventy-two companions, my Habib, my Zuhayr, and my Tirmah
my John and Wahb, all of pure heart
By the dignity, the nobility, the sternness of Abbas
By Uthman and by Ja’far, by the two martyrs of Aqil
By the pure hearts of Abdallah and Qasim
By Ali Akbar and his pain, by Ali Asghar and his blood
The full moon beats its chest with both hands from grief
Shedding tears that flow like silver, crying out in lament
Broken-hearted, O my support, O my aspiration, O my beloved, O Husayn!

(Husayn, my life, how you were wronged…)

By the jasmine of Medina, by Ruqayya, by Sakina
By Zaynab’s stricken heart and her two martyred sons
By the dry lips of my little children
By the weary body of my beloved son Sajjad
I shall never flee from these oppressors
Nor shall I give allegiance or make peace with tyrants
My head is upon the spearhead in the way of God, speaking with the Beloved
I will bear the slings and arrows, for I swear I see nothing but God

(Husayn, my life, how you were wronged…)

By the Arab Prophet, the Messenger of Medina
And by his brother, the Lion of God called Ali
By Zahra the pure, by the mother of her father
And by his grandsons, his lion cubs, they are the scions of purity
By al-Sajjad, by al-Baqir, and by al-Sadiq, truly!
And by Musa, and Ali, and Taqi, and Naqi
And by the one imprisoned in Samarra and by God’s Authority who will rise up with the truth
Who will strike out with the sword to rule for eternity
And by Muhammad and Muhammad and by Ali and Ali

(Husayn, my life, how you were wronged…)