The seed of war grows well,
On the farm of hatred;
I abhor wars,
Though my victory be certain;
I abhor enforced exodus,
And the camps too,
The camps peep out of my eyes,
I am in search of
Absolute peace and liberty,
My search winks at me.
I am with peace,
And my fate is isolation,
I shall write,
The next poem in the prison.
Everyone who spoke truth faced a tragic end, may it not be so that you write your next poem in the prison, But I think the prison is your own self and want to confine your self in You. If the prison is you yourself I expect a very powerful next poem from you.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Habib Jalib sahab yad aa gay.