Pitched upon the scorching desert,
The tent of Husain lay,
Encompassed round with Satan’s hounds…
Upon that black sad day.
They numbered less that eighty strong,
Women and children too,
While Yazid’s thousands stood around,
Awaiting the Fiend’s lure.
Oh! How valiantly fought that pitiful few,
Against Yazid’s wild murderers,
Fought with a courage unequaled in time,
Fought with fierceness that was surely Divine.
The earth quaked and trembled as noon drew near,
But still the survivors knew no fear,
But fever grew that pitiful band,
For Islam, God & Husain they stand.
At last, all were dead, the Devil had won,
Blood-red sank down the merciless sun,
Trampled and torn lay the gallant Husain,
For Islam, and God, the Faithful were slain.
H. G. Wells
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