The Chosen OnesImam Mūsā al-Kāzem

Two centuries had not yet passed since the dawning of the sun of Islam and the unhappy dusk of oppression and false deification and hypocrisy was already upon us. The city is quiet and seems to be desolate. Any stranger who approaches the city from afar would think that everyone has perished; but this is not the case. In the midst of a dark and damp dungeon in the middle of the city, where Abbāsid henchmen pass the night patrol with drawn swords at the ready, a flame shines brightly, offering some heat and light. In the heart of the dungeon there is a man in a posture of prostration, occupied with devotions to his Lord – devotional laments and supplications whose melody is sweeter than the Psalms of the prophet David, and which mysteriously course through the arteries of society, giving it its lifeblood.

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