Hark! The hooves, like the rumble of thunder,
The cries of battle, of loot and plunder,
Breakaways they were, strong of mind,
Strong of mind, rebels of a savage kind.
Onward they rushed, like the currents of the Tiber,
Here they were, past the treacherous Khyber,
Tire they did not, they rode the night,
They rode the night, yes, as a matter of right.
The guardians of the frontier, the Pathans of yore,
Of their valour and courage, there were tales and lore,
Tonight the custodians were not ready for the fight,
Not ready for this fight, not till the dawn of light.
The Greeks rode their steeds into the camp,
Where the Pathans reposed, like shadows from lamps,
The mountains echoed the piercing screams,
The pool of death stirred, as if woken from its dreams.
Shahid, the Witness, lay still in his tent,
Shahid, the Matyr, whom Allah had sent,
Young he was, just two decade and two,
Just two decade and two, yet his heart was true.
Of women and wine Shahid had no use,
Yet a poet he was, words were his muse,
They scoffed at his verse, those ferocious Pathans,
Those ferocious Pathans, who said he could never be a Khan.
Shahid, the Chosen, he woke with a start,
His gleaming talwar, he pulled out of scabbard,
Shahid, the Brave, into the fray he ran,
Into the fray he ran, and boy turned to man.
His sword was a flash, like lightning in rain,
With the silver at his side, Shahid knew no pain,
Greek blood was shed, four score and four,
Four score and four, yet Shahid knew there were more.
Alas! There came a bolt from the blue,
A dagger in Shahid's back, wait, there were two,
Shahid, the Saviour, vanquished by traitors,
Vanquished by traitors, those bearded betrayers.
The battle raged on, from the skies watched Thor,
Shahid, the Victor, had already won them the war,
They spoke of him later, of the legend of Allah's Carrier,
The legend of Allah's Carrier, of Shahid, the Poet-Warrior.