A bestial sport that erases,
by Muhammad Shanazar
The names of men from the book,
Of creatures fair and courteous;
Brutalizing into the savage beasts.
A black, heinous, sable spot,
On the beauteous countenance,
Of humanity, making appearance,
Frightening of atrocious cannibals,
Of those who shudder not least,
At committing the murderous game.
They find profuse panic pleasure,
In licking warm trickling blood,
Cutting throats, perforating chests,
Sucking marrowed bones, eating flesh.
How proud are they of wearing dress,
Stained with coagulated paint,
Escaping from the temporal rules,
They know not, they are not afar,
From the eternal penalizing,
Laws of inevitable fair justice.
They harm no one, but themselves,
By heaping up terrific perditions,
Upon their too fragile backs,
Rashly obey the Perfidious Friend.
Their minds are too weak to perceive,
The catastrophe they are to face,
The fiery fangs, the clutchy claws
How anxiously quiver to devour,
To feast upon them unendingly.
For ransom they are to be condemned,
To the torturous infernal lands,
Under the huge burning blocks,
Chained with the slings of hot iron,
Without an end; Ah! Without an end.