The extremist leader lay slain,
How could the followers remain;
Inside the toppled, sacred shrine,
The messengers in total pain.
The Man will frown, he will cry,
The violence always brings ruin;
The man of peace will die again,
To the dictates of the same men.
The minority stifle any alternative,
They need to fight and stand alone;
But cannot find any hiding place,
As decaying bodies adorn the floor.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem