The Dawn of Peace

Dark were the ages, dark was the time,

Dark was the day, dark was night,

Mankind sans guidance indulged in crime,

The world was its darkest, needful o' light,

Its fate, its destiny, unclear as slime.

Dark, alike all, a sandy city lay,

Where first in the world rose the Day,

And in faraway lands shatter'd the clay,

Of Ceaser's architecture; and out was the fire,

Of the Magians of the East; and cry'd a cryer,

In the city: "Behold! A son is born,

A grandson of our cheiftain."

That son orphan'd in early age,

Left to his uncle, once went along,

To Syria for trade, and met the sage,

"This boy, I tell you, will be great,

A prophecy'd prophet he'll be,

He'll rise, and the world will see,

He'll rise, and Satan will flee."

Such was the priest's prophecy.

Years then passed, and in one cave,

A man of forty, in deep-thought,

Sat, as he for guidance did crave,

And as he there dwelt, he felt,

Felt the presence of a noble angel,

"Read," who said, and hug'd him tight,

"In the Name of Your Lord,"

And with that he was done enlight,

For what he had seen, that sight,

Was the angel that had bought,

Bought, ere, the Torah and the Evangel,

Now bought the light, long sought.

Then Mohammed called all his house,

"I am the last Herald of God,

I am a Warner from your Lord."

And a great debate those words did arouse,

Men who saw the truth began to rise,

Rise as a nation free from the many vice,

Of the times, and free from crimes.

And others stubborn bely'd the Warner,

Put him and put all his follower,

Into one oppressive corner.

A dozen or more years pass'd,

The support of near and dear faded,

Faded away with death; and headed,

The pagan people towards a level,

A level up in oppression and torture,

Some dwellers of one date-palm city,

Visited the land, and truth they did see,

In the Prophet, his Message, his Prophecy.

"Go there," God's Herald said,

"Go to that city;" and the Followers did head,

Towards a promisin' new horizon, they head,

The pagans sans shame plotted a murder,

"We'll wipe off Mohammed's name,"

They said; but God had plan'd for further,

The Herald left his Loyal Brother,

In his bed, and out he set,

From under the noses of his assassins potentials, yet,

Unseen to them by God's Decree,

With his friend Siddiq, now free.

There was an uproar: "Mohammed did flee,"

Thro'out the great Mecca city,

Men were sent to patrol the route,

But the Prophet took another way,

So Mecca declared, "Whoever does him capture or slay,

A generous reward we promise to him."

One horseman, determined, to that prize win,

Left out but found himself plea—

Plea to God's Herald "Forgive Me!"

And thro' and thro' they reach'd the land,

As sang for them welcome, a melodious band,

And chieftain came, with clans of hundreds man'd,

All wishin' that a stay at theirs he'd plan'd,

All desirin' that at their homes be his stand,

The world has never seen, nor ever will see,

A persona so greatly, gloriously fan'd.

A new phase now began,

A new life the City did plan,

Where all evils would be done ban,

And thus rose the Polis,

The Polis of God's Herald.

Mecca couldn't see the Polis rise,

For its rise meant threat to ties,

The fall of power, great hazards been being hover,

And so it happen'd that one day they met,

The Polis and Mecca, three to ten, mighty yet,

For God's Might was with them—with the army Moslem,

A great battle they fought,

Mecca saw defeat, victory the Polis bought,

Now thro' Mecca, echo'd lonely cries,

After the torture, this was their prize.

And thus came for revenge a battle,

A winning Polis army, fell due to a blunder,

Many were martyr'd and still lie yonder,

But the pagan cowards did not hold long,

And fled the field fearing attack,

And tho' they once try'd couldn't look back,

And then when some years had gone,

A huge Confederacy of Pgans beseiged the Polis yon,

Only to be sunder'd by a mighty storm.

Then years later a Treaty was made,

But Mecca's stand, on it began to fade,

As they slaughter'd Moslem allies under the Sacred Shade,

A huge army, terribly mighty march'd,

Towards Mecca, seekin' revenge,

And as Moslem legions throu' Mecca did parade,

Entering from all sides as a conquering brigade,

All arms, all keys, all that day was laid,

Upon the feet of God's Herald.

Paganism that day fell,

Victorious was the Warner Of Hell,

He, who to his arch foes did tell,

"Go my brothers you're free to live."

For He was the Mercy, who taught to forgive,

Foes he made freres, he fix'd all tairs.

Then the Faith of Peace was complete,

And came the call from God,

And so one blue day,

The Last Herald pass'd away.

Yet his name glorious endures today.

Blue was the Polis, and tears all wore

For he was gone, the Best of Men was no more!