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literarysencha · 4 years

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The Battle of Karbala

A Marthiyaa of Anis, translated into English verse by David Matthews, Rupa Co.

The sun had run his journey o'er the night;

Unveiled, the Dawn revealed her glorious face.

The King who rides the heavens saw her light

And called his brave companions to their place.

'The time has come at last; to God give praise;

Arise! In fitting prayer your voices raise.

Brave hearts! For strife and slaughter dawns this day;

Here the blood of Muhammad's race will flow.'

Zahra's darling, honoured, seeks the fray;

The night of parting fades 'neath union's glow.

'We are those for whom the angels weep;

To live this day we sacrificed our sleep.

This morning brings an evening ever blessed;

We who depart for Paradise will slake

Our thirst by Kawthar's spring, and there find rest.

May God exalt our names for honour's sake.'

Unequalled, each of them to joy gave birth.

'Let martyrs rise in glory from this earth.'

At this the faithful friends rose from their beds,

And donning glorious raiment combed their hair;

Then tying turbans on their noble heads,

They faced the peerless Lord and gathered there.

Wrapped in coloured cloaks, their fear grew less;

Rose perfume, musk and civet filled their dress.

Brave warriors dwarfing heaven with their height,

In battle Solomons, in Sheba lions;

The bravest fighters bowed before their might;

No pangs of hunger pained these stalwart scions.

For their great hearts the world was less than nought;

To the vastness of the sea they gave scant thought.

Their dry lips sang the praise of God; and light

Shone on their faces; fear was put aside.

No grief or panic clouded o'er their sight;

They joked and laughed and shared their skills with pride.

Their charming accents gladdened every ear;

Each word they uttered was a joy to hear.

Beyond compare the figures of their speeches;

Each point they made with rare magnificence.

Their rhetoric the art that knowledge teaches;

Their dry tongues shed the honey of eloquence.

Arabian poets marvelled at their art.

Lips like pistachios gently prized apart.

Laughing voices, faces like the rose,

Their bodies smelt as sweet as Joseph's cloak;

Devout, abstemious; their saintly pose

In Heaven's slaves would servitude provoke.

Such rubies are not found, such pearls are rare.

'They are angels', cried the Houris, 'born of air.'

There was no water for the heavenly crowd;

Before the prayers they washed in shining sand.

Their faces gleamed like sunrays through a cloud.

Sons of the Father of the Dust, this band

Became as radiant as the silver moon;

Their faces mirrors in a hazy noon.

The kinsmen of the King stepped from their tent,

Fatima's darlings all of beauteous face;

Qasim the fair and Akbar heaven-sent,

Aqil and Muslim, Ja'far's valiant race.

Their countenances lit the sky around.

The flower of eighteen suns stood on the ground.

That morning 'neath the shadow of the stars!

If Moses, who called God on Sinai,

Had seen their light that with the vision jars,

He would have swooned. Celestial majesty

Was echoed by the birds' song in the bowers

Of the desert valley filled with fragrant flowers.

That dancing brilliance wafted by the breeze!

The russet satin sky was put to shame.

Rosy dew-drops hung on swaying trees;

Diamonds were abashed and pearls found blame.

Each bush was crowned by glittering diadems;

The leaves of every tree wore precious gems.

How fine the art of the Creator's pen!

On every leaf embellishment was shown;

A skill beyond accomplished poets' ken,

Which to the simpler mind remained unknown.

All stood in awe of the Lord of Servants' craft;

Enamelled richness o'er the valley laughed.

The light, the fresh, cold desert and the sky!

The pheasant, quail and peacock made their call;

The sweet-voiced birds intoned their plaintive cry;

The morning breeze brought coolness to the soul.

Red petals clothed the trees and sought their arms

Then gathered in the- ditches round the palms.

The desert and the morning breeze that blew

Amid the branches swaying in the bowers,

Scattering on the blooms rare drops of dew;

One nightingale addressed a thousand flowers.

The primroses of Zahra's garden drank

The dew, collected on the rosy bank.

The ring-doves gathered round the cypress tall;

The pigeons cooed: 'The Lord alone holds sway!'

Then came the cry: 'Our God is blessed by all.'

The birds pursued their worship in their way.

Not only flowers sang their adulation;

The tongues of thorns gave praise in exultation.

Lifting up its hand, the ant cried out:

'Oh Cherisher of the weak, who rule our fate!'

'Eternal One! Almighty!', came the shout,

'There is one God, and He alone is great.'

The deer called in the woods, the birds in the air;

The jungle lions roared within their lair.

And here amid the thorns the Prophet's flowers

Imparted fragrance to the desert lands;

The house of Fatima faced its last hours

In the garden planted by Muhammad's hands

This garden cut down in those ten sad days,

By traitors wasted, cruelly set ablaze.

Ah God! The autumn and the flowers of spring!

Muhammad's sons could scarcely hold their breath.

Like bridegrooms they had dreamed of joy to sing;

But their red garlands were the blooms of death.

Awake all night, their eyes were drunk with sleep.

Their perfumed smiles caused closed bud's' hearts to leap.

The glory of that russet-coloured tent!

A fresh sky o'er the earth had been unfurled.

To the canopy no pole's support was lent;

This ancient house! Faith's pivot in the world.

For Allah's loved-ones dwelt beneath this sky

Like stars in the empyrean on high.

The desert land smiled mocking at the skies;

The seventh heaven thought it dwelt above.

Its curtains were the veils of beauties' eyes,

And heaven plucked its stars from it with love.

The morning thought the sun a wretched sight

When it compared it to that desert's light.

Then suddenly the dawn's white light came in;

To lead the prayer the King came from his throne.

All stood behind the Lord of Men and Jinn;

Ali Akbar called the prayer in Hasan's tone.

The eyes of everyone were filled with tears.

As if the Prophet's voice fell on their ears.

The birds fell silent; trees in ecstasy

Rocked to an' fro; their buds and fruit sang praise.

The towns and deserts joined in harmony,

And ocean-beasts emerged to hear their lays.

The darling of Shabbir to all lent weight;

O'er land and sea they cried: 'Our God is great!'

The women of the King wept hitter tears;

While Bano of renown stood silently,

Zainab repeated blessings with her prayers:

'My muezzin, I give thy life to thee!

They call in praise of God; oh, hear their joy!

As beautiful as Joseph is my boy.

He reads from the Quran; what majesty!

His grandsire once for speaking held the prize.

Ah, may his voice remain eternally!

The strains of David, who was called The Wise!

Those melodies like petals of a flower!

A nightingale chirps in the Prophet's bower.

Let someone take these blessings on my part;

May God protect him from the evil eye!

His eloquence would capture any heart,

Although for two long days his throat is dry.

In foreign lands misfortune strikes Husain.

Three days of hunger torment him with pain.'

'Make ready for your worship!', came the cry.

'The King of all Creation leaves his seat.

In ranks of light the Leader passes by;

Salvation's path bows down to touch his feet.

His radiance in the highest heaven will reign.'

The Quran became a prayer-mat for Husain.

The company's prayers were verses from that age;

Like bismillah the King stood at their head;

The ranks were lines of writing on the page,

And proudly stood behind the one who led.

The dawn blinked at the whiteness shown between

The rows of words that Ali once had seen.

They magnified the Lord in glorious tune;

All heaven's angels blessed them for their sake.

In faith their faces shone bright as the moon;

In fear of God their limbs began to quake.

Their necks were bowed in humble adulation.

Like the crescent moon they folded in prostration.

Haidar's scions, Muhammad's noble kin,

Eighteen brave young men stood in one place;

All peerless, righteous, humble, free of sin,

The friends of the Imam in wisdom's grace.

Theirs the praise of God in all directions.

Theirs the beads that told their benedictions.

They stood, then bowed; their prayers flew to the sky;

To the One Existing Lord they showed devotion.

Prostrate upon the ground, their time passed by;

Their hands, their arms, their feet betrayed no motion.

But of their own dire plight. they made no word.

They prayed beneath the shadow of the sword.

They raised their heads and pointed to the air;

The gates of heaven received their adulation.

Their hands, the pinions of the bird of prayer,

To the trembling sky sped on their supplication.

In humble pose they fell upon the ground;

In Gabriel's domain their words passed round.

The prayer of the King of Men was now complete;

His thirsty friends came forth to shake his hand.

One kissed his cheek, another touched his feet;

What stalwart spirits had this hungry band!

His soldiers pledged their faith with every breath;

Embracing on the feast-day of their death.

Here one fell upon the ground in thanks;

Here the Quran was read in doleful strains.

Praise of the Prophet echoed in their ranks;

Here power to the Almighty 'mid their pains.

Husain cried out: 'Have pity on our plight;

On us who thirst and hunger in our flight!'

Here sad laments and pleading supplication;

But there oppression, cruelty, wicked deeds.

Umar, son of Sa'ad cried, 'Keep your station!

Watch the river, guard the banks and meads !

Husain is without water for two days.

Let him not drink a drop until he pays.'

The Celestial King gave orders from his place,

When arrows suddenly began to fall.

Towards the evil foe he turned his face.

Weighing his sword Abbas obeyed his call.

Like moths around the torch of the Imam,

They rallied to protect Husain from harm.

To Ali Akbar he made this behest:

'On treachery our evil foe is bent.

[continued at https://www.al-islam.org/articles/battle-karbala-marthiyaa-anis]

#poetry #islam #imam husayn #karbala

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