Faithful
I was in Fresh-Co
Felt buying a melon
Cashier line attractive
Customers romantic…
One of them a Muslim
Indian
Wore Dishdash, Arabic.
Before him Blond Man
Looked at him as someone
Stupid; a corrupt; all as wrong.
No word but his gaze talked:
“You dirty go back home! ”
If peace was law enforced.
His face I, realized, not Arab
Indian…
In Urdu I spoke.
Then helped in water
A large jar, too heavy.
Outside shop came greet
Somali said: “Salam”.
Inside me question boiled:
“Why is so? Faithful are poor-
Backward…”
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem