The Sport-Rabbits Poem by Muhammad Shanazar

When avarice, greed and cupidity,
Sleepingly work in the hearts of the members,
Of the family living in the system combined,
They bring out axes, daggers and clubs wooden,
And rate blood: the red substance very cheap.

I recall one of the hurts my mother sustained,
It was the moon-night: the last eve of the fasting month,
The month of patience, tolerance and tongue controls,
When Man nears himself God: the creator,
And is revealed the secrets of the entire scheme.

The village folk stood on brims of the roofs,
All were gazing to the west with thrilled looks,
To welcome the Eid crescent: the harbinger of pleasures,
My dreadful uncle started bickering with my mother,
That assumed the form of uproarious quarrel.
The incensed uncle pulled out rough acacian club,
Advanced unjustified to assault the exhausted woman,
Who scuttled for her life but the chaser had legs long,
And began to batter with violent aggressive blows,
The helpless woman shrieked, made calls for help,
But no one rescued from the hands of wangling champion,
And soon she lay there in the middle of courtyard,
With the injured head and broken leg, all over bleeding,
The whole yard was sprinkled with the drops of blood,
The spot where her head placed retained a big pool,
Of the red substance: ever worthless in the human history.

The callous neighbouring women of the village gathered,
A few cursed the deed, but many amused themselves,
With the spectacle and might have derived pleasure too,
I stood stunned beside my bleeding injured mother.
She remained on the bed for the months six,
No supporting agent of the law came to assure justice.

In the days of winter at noons while she lay in the sun,
I played with my small friends and ran around her bed,
And often I helped her in turning the side when it pained,
Once I stood beside her bed with the thumb in my mouth,
She cryingly said,
“We have been sent in the world of monsters,
Where the mighty prey upon the weak fearing no law”,
Now when I stand on the brim of grave, it is realised,
It is true; it is true, undoubtedly it is true.
The potent individual preys upon the weak men,
The fierce families make the poor their victims,
And the atrocious nations make the feeble their sport-rabbits.