The Lament of the Border Cattle Thief

1 
O woe is me for the merry life
    I led beyond the Bar,
And a treble woe for my winsome wife
   That weeps at Shalimar. 
2 
They have taken away my long jezail,
   My shield and sabre fine,
And heaved me into the Central jail
   For lifting of the kine. 
3 
The steer may low within the byre,
   The Jat may tend his grain,
But there’ll be neither loot nor fire
   Till I come back again. 
4 
And God have mercy on the Jat
   When once my fetters fall,
And Heaven defend the farmer’s hut
   When I am loosed from thrall. 
5 
It’s woe to bend the stubborn back
   Above the grinching quern,
It’s woe to hear the leg-bar clack
   And jingle when I turn! 
6 
But for the sorrow and the shame,
    The brand on me and mine,
I’ll pay you back in leaping flame
   And loss of the butchered kine. 
7 
For every cow I spared before
   In charity set free,
If I may reach my hold once more
    I’ll reive an honest three. 
8 
For every time I raised the low
    That scared the dusty plain,
By sword and cord, by torch and tow
    I’ll light the land with twain! 
9 
Ride hard, ride hard to Abazai,
    Young Sahib with the yellow hair—
Lie close, lie close as Khattacks lie,
   Fat herds below Bonair! 
10 
The one I’ll shoot at twilight-tide,
   At dawn I’ll drive the other;
The black shall mourn for hoof and hide,
   The white man for his brother. 
11 
’Tis war, red war, I’ll give you then,
   War till my sinews fail;
For the wrong you have done to a chief of men,
   And a thief of the Zukka Kheyl. 
12 
And if I fall to your hand afresh
   I give you leave for the sin,
That you cram my throat with the foul pig’s flesh,
   And swing me in the skin!

Choose another poem