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  • Date :
  • 1/28/2007

The Savior of Islam

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 a grief, 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 its ire

If only it could make itself somehow free

From the chains of bonds of heaven"s decree.

The river was ashamed; hapless was its plight

Destiny"s decree, how could it dare fight

Its 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.

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