Classic Poem

Lullaby to my little son!
Lullaby to Murad Hydar, my little son!
May God and the Prophet bless him!
May he be blessed by the Four Companions,
The Twelve Apostles, the Fourteen Holy Innocents,
And the Forty-Seven Excellent Saints!

May Murad Hydar, my little son, grow into strong, lusty manhood,
And bind about his forehead a large white turban,
Throw a great red cloak about his shoulders,
And take to hand and elbow the five weapons of the Afghans:
Buckler, rifle, dagger, knotted whip of rawhide,
And a shining sword out of Persia.
May he mount his slender mare and ride down the hills,
And go at night to the villages of the dirty-robed Mohammedzyes,
And entice away with sweet speech the flower of their maidens,
A chief's daughter, red and white,
With smooth face, all hair shaved off her body,
Small, pointed breasts, each large enough to fill a hand,
And with black tresses like female cobras.
May he wing along the mountains like a hawk,
And swoop, unerring, upon the little partridge of the Mohammedzyes.

And she will say to my little son:
‘When the sun dies red and gold behind the hills,
When the moon is stabbed on the outer horns of the world,
Then you must tie your slender mare
Behind the tamarisk, and wait.
You must wait until my father goes out to the pasture,
To drive home our small cattle,
And until my dreadful old grandmother
Stills her leaky tongue and goes to sleep.
Then I shall meet you in the place you know,
And lie down beside you,
My lips to yours, my thighs to yours,
And we will rest in joy until the morning star shines green.
And then you must quickly go away,
Lest my father awake, or my dreadful old grandmother.

May Murad Hydar, my little son, grow into stout, lusty manhood,
And redden his hands with his enemies' blood,
As the falcon of the hills dyes red his talons.
For there will be bitter strife with the Mohammedzyes,
The wearers of dirty turbans,
And the chief of the Turkolanis will send word
To Murad Hydar, my little son, to lead the yanguard.
And my little son will gather his troop of horsemen,
And will crush the hounds of the Mohammedzyes
As a booted foot crushes the head of a cobra.

Lullaby to my little son!
May the Single, Eternal God bless him!