The will of Mashhad Mashallah

Mashhadhi was a Twelver Shia.

Not from those who used to recite zikr from night to morning

One of those who worked from morning to night.

He paid insurance premiums for thirty-five years.

He was a simple worker in a metal workshop

His hands still smelled of burnt oil

When he got the pension book

One morning, after prayer

He said to himself:

A wise person should also think about his death.

He went to Beheshtzahra first.

He said: How many graves?

they said

It depends where it is

Do you want two-story or single-story?

Shady or sunny

old or new

Heard the prices

His smile froze

grave

It started from a few meters

But the size did not matter

They were all one meter by two meters

The classes were different

Classes of people too.

He went to the shroud.

He said: Give simple pants.

they said

We don't have simple

This one has a verse

That one's name is Fourteen Masoum

That one is a guarantee of intercession.

Prices went up by the number of words.

Mashadhi said mashallah under his breath

So who is speechless?

I have nothing to do with God.

He himself knows everything.

[didn't have]

He went to the local mosque

For the third ceremony

The servant of the mosque told the price.

It started from twenty five million.

The mosque itself was old

But the account is new.

Mashadhi, Mashallah, come back home.

He poured tea.

He called the children.

said:

i died

do not shroud me

Do not bathe

Do not take a mosque

Do not buy a grave.

If it is

Leave me at home.

If not

Throw it in the big trash can at the end of the street

Maybe the municipality collected me for free.

One of the children started crying.

Mashhadhi Mashallah said:

don't cry

We were not driven from God's door

We were driven by the prices.

that night

He did not understand that dying in this country

It has been classified for years

Just understand

for some

Even death is temporary.

#Behnam_Mohtrami#