The Caliph's Son

Heading to a cauldron in the dry sea of sands Far afield the Sahara shores devoid of life With an array of dexterous army riding further North Our horses neighs as honed swords beholds Amir al-Mu'mini's hands Death on battlefield is an honourary worth Even the treasures of war fuels this sweet strife To bring back silvers, gold, and pleasuring flesh As a "Missing-Captured" for my already bloated chambers And the crown will yield more cowries if Allah blesses The throne, to rax few shells to the proselytes or sheik in the madrasas Who barely tattles my fate but extols me greatly The fogged dust on our tarsals censored vision in the brown mist And the day mocked our sights Yet we fought with fallen numbers till the sun left the east To the west with blunt swords clanging defeat While the crescent moon and rayed star decked the night Our feral horses snorted as the numbers of our enemies diminishes From thousands to hundreds and then tens till they are no more Then rode us to the oasis under the night's eyes The wind sang victorious song for us while we quench our thirst Even when water taste like sand as we drink there was plenty to pour In our jars for the next few day's ablution ~ Our flintlock muskets hug straight at our back As we rode our horses with our prisoners of war Tied with our turbans to a caravan camel Along with ostriches, ivories, kolanuts and salts To a waiting parade while my horsemen brandished their swords It excited the maidens who peeped under a parasol Their breast dangles like ripe mangos in a tree. My father rode to me with his horsemen chanting the greatness of God He was Clad in an ostrich's feather in his turban He embraced me and the trumpet went amok with melodious sounds These I've always desired - a titular prince Worthy of all admiration in the whole of the five emirates