A foggy winter evening,
Covered in dark clothing,
Through the haze, silently sitting;
Hot-coffee and me--sipping;
In a desolate corner of the cafe.
A Muslim, a Jew, a Christian;
A Hindu, an Atheist-all sitting;
They gossip, drink, laughing,
Like good old friends, beaming;
Life became good and teeming.
Then came two gentlemen, staring;
Holy Books in their hands, dangling;
Long gowns and beard, donning;
The wheels in Cafe now turning,
Faster than the warplanes bombing.
A comrade with his hate resolution,
Other with his book, cutting passion;
Third is not ready to leave any obsession;
all fought, attacked and beat each creation;
With all possible energy and vision.
With dark around destroying,
Close connected friends creating,
Disorder in every nation spreading,
The peace-loving unable to ferrying;
A toxic gust of Holy and radical books.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem