Sorrows Sufferings [Electronic resources] نسخه متنی

(15) THE SAVIOR OF ISLAM

Sweet melodies blew the heavenly
horn

A joyous tiding; Husayn was
born

The sun rejoiced; the moon was
gay

Each in its orbit, each did
away.

The waters rippled; the wind was
all play

Never were they, so happy and
gay

It was Muhammad's light and Ali's
ray

The Savior of Islam, had come to
stay.

A gift to Muhammad, from his
Lord

A son to Ali, the sun of God

A fruit of love, to the Lady of
Light

A brother to Hassan, to cause him
delight.

Born was he, out of God's grace

A beacon light, to the human
race

A soul of souls, whom God made
pure

With heavenly love, the world to
cure.

The Prophet rejoiced; his eyes shed
tears

For here was one, to him most
dear

For here was one, for Islam's
sake

His life and all, would one day
stake.

For truth and justice, he would
fight

In cause of God, without
respite

For he was one, decreed by God

To lay his life, for the love of
Lord.

The heavens were glad, for such
a one

The Lord should choose, Ali's
son

For best was he; the world had
seen

Whose vision one craves, even in
dream.

"Fed with love, by the Lady of
Light"

he got the best, of what was
right

and from his father, the 'Godly
Knight'

he drew his strength and his
might.

But Muhammad did give, beyond
measure

All that he had, as his
treasure

For he was his treasure, beyond
doubt

As he often publicly proclaimed
aloud.

"Love them my Lord, I do
implore,

Who love Husayn and him adore

He is of me and I of him"

Such a bond, the world had not
seen!

He sucked his tongue, in playful
jest

His breast he made, a place of
rest

The reins he made, his curls of
hair

His back he made, a stately
mare.

Such was the love, the Prophet
bore

For he was his grandson, and
more

An anchor sheet, to all who
care

To live and be, 'just and
fair.'

The life he lived; the path he
led

He earned by sweat; the poor he
fed

Not a pie had he, that he kept

But the poor he gave, ere he
slept.

A king of kings, in simple
attire

The crowns of world, he never
aspired

To the uncared widow, and the needy
orphan

He gave his all, and all so
often.

Many a day, he tightened his
loins

To buy his own bread, he had no
coins

So noble of heart so pure a
soul

To please his Lord, was his
goal.

He lived for Lord and His
delight

He toiled by day and prayed by
night

The simplest of life, he liked to
live

The best of things, he liked to
give.

His life was such, a guiding
light

To know the wrong and know the
right

And such a soul, was asked to
bow

To one who was, the lowest of
low.

Yazid, the godless son of a crafty
father

Was proclaimed a king or Caliph
rather

Money and wine, most lavishly
flowed

Till all the worldly heads had
bowed.

But not the heads, who had
bowed

To God alone, who had showed

The path of right, through Islam's
ray

Eighty and odd, among them, were
they.

To save Islam from its sinking
depth

Too glad were they, to face
death

But to the ungodly one, they refused
to bow

Undaunted and unnerved, they faced
the foe.

It was not a fight, for a
kingdom

Nor a family feud, as is not
seldom

It was a fight for principles and
truth

As imbibed by Islam, in its holy
book.

If he had bowed to the ungodly
one

Riches and honor he would have
won

Islam would then have been in
name

Its seal., would have adorned, the
devil's reign.

The time soon came for their
test

They were ready to lay their
best

With women and babes, handful were
they

Ready to face thousands, in battle
array.

To cut off water, was the only
way

To weaken them, they thought, for
the fray

So frightened were they, of Ali's
son

To fight them they knew, was no
fun.

Husayn was fully alive, to things
at stake

He knew well, his family's fate

He was aware, that his was the Martyr's
cup

His end was near, his time was
up!

The sad day dawned; the heavens
were aghast

Truth was at stake; the die had
been cast

Never had they witnessed, so supreme
a test;

Falsehood at its worst versus truth
at its best.

The wind was aggrief, it tore each
leaf

Wild was its anger, wild with
grief

It shook the river by its
throat

The waves, it tossed all things
afloat.

The sun glared down, wild with
fire

It burned with rage; fierce was
it's ire

If only it could make itself somehow
free

From the chains of bonds of heaven's
decree.

The river was ashamed; hapless was
it's plight

Destiny's decree, how could it dare
fight

It's waters were controlled, by
the rule of might

Who cared a nought, for wrong or
right.

They guarded the river; they threw
a ring

To deny water was worst of a vindictive
thing

The hounds, they drank, and so did
the drunks

Innocent babes; parched were their
tongues.

For three torturous days and three
night

Muhammad's beloveds were in waterless
plight

Young babes of most holy and innocent
fare

Wailing and whining, the torture
they share.

O' Lord of Lords! What a pathetic
sight

Yazid's hordes, displaying their
might

Thousands and thousands of blood-thirsty
hounds

Waiting to pounce on eighty odd
crowns.

While handful of souls, engrossed
in prayer

Unheedful of them; a sight so divinely
rare

Young and old, they prayed to Merciful
God

With humble devotion, His help they
sought.

To give them strength; no, not to
fight

But to be content, in whatever
plight

For well they knew, their role of
life

Was to save Islam, from being
knifed!

The battle he lost, the fight he
won

Yazid's title of sanctity was
shorn

Islam's plant survived the
onslaught

Husayn's blood had watered the
drought.

The revenge was complete, so it
seemed

Abu Sufyan's pledge to Satan was
redeemed

The worldly eyes could, however,
hardly see

Husayn's blood had kept Islam pure
and free.