In the 660’s CE, the wicked caliph, Muawiyya, a usurper and despot, would gift lambs to the children in Damascus, the capitol he controlled, and once these innocent youth had developed attachment to their pets, he had their lambs slaughtered by his soldiers at night, so that these children awoke to the horrific sight, and in despair. He had town criers announce the lie that these lambs had been slaughtered by Ali, who was the legitimate leader of these lands. The sorrow, turned to rage and these children would grow brainwashed to hate Ali and his family, and they would eventually make up the army that would systematically slaughter the family of Ali… including children and infants. This poem is dedicated to this true story:
A Lamb Slaughtered by Professor A.L.I.
The child whose pet lamb was slaughtered in Damascus,
Grows to be a man steeling himself towards thirsty infants,
Loyalty based on lies, allegiance to despots; his soul burns.
When the veil is torn and death approaches; he mourns.
These are crocodile tears, since the veil was pierced before,
The moment he saw an old man place his child on desert floor.
When his own canteen was sloshing, full of life giving liquid.
He could have undid strap, and his own damaged spirit, lifted–
The flask to the lips of this innocent being; instead he’d see.
The horror brought upon, be an arrow-pronged-three.
In that moment, a mirage caused by his teary, blurred vision:
Of his own lamb, gifted to him; the false caliph’s wicked wisdom.
To have him name his pet, become attached, and then awaken,
To find his beloved friend, murdered by the caliph’s agents.
And town criers announce it as a plot by a man known as Ali.
A shrewd lie, constructed by a usurper, to acquire loyalty.
Political brainwashing so thorough, that this man would believe,
That his lamb was slaughtered, by the Prophet’s family.
Brainwashed thoroughly, he severs limbs of this family’s tree.
A soldier for Yazeed, Muawiyya’s seed, the most sinister breed.
So when the baby was placed before him, he took not a step,
No water for the 6-month old infant gasping its last breath,
He watches this tragedy, and unfolds towards his own death.
He sees the truth; and now bears the burden of great debt.
And yet, when the old man asked him, “If no one was left to help him–
If no one was there to give him aid?” He still grasped his weapons.
And instead of helping, destroys, and lays claims a destination.
An eternal conflagration, burning amidst a hellish congregation.
And he sees himself in this place, wielding the same blade.
That was used by a lie, to cultivate this boy’s rage.
His hands and face are covered in blood, just like Husayn’s–
The blood of his own lamb, that he slaughtered that same day.