A Mystery Poem by Muhammad Shanazar

On the distant ground, a man kind and bland,
Led me through a wide open door,
Into a rectangular spacious piece of land,
With a wall neither high nor too small,
To strengthen more my frail feeble faith.

The containers big were kept along,
By the Hosts, at measured distance,
Fill with light yellow cooked rice,
A slight longer than the grain we eat,
Transparent as if were made of polythene.

The eaters gathered around in groups,
They were neither in hurry nor voracious,
Nor they let fall the grains on the ground,
I can not tell the flavour for I did not taste,
But the food seemed nourishing the soul.

I was told, “They are the blessed who laid their lives,
Leaving behind their descendants and their wives,
Stood for His cause against the Blackness,
And now the Sustainer sustains them bounteously,
But you are too unwise to know the mystery.”