The ink is long since dry
And the pens are all gone
The eyes have stopped looking
It’s been written so long.
It rains and it pours
Your resolve flows like mud
Drifting down gutters
You meet with a thud.
I fight with my pen
And write with the sword;
Praise for the only one
That I’d call my Lord.
I’m only a man
So don’t follow me, boy
If you want, I will lead you,
To the lily fields of joy.
But to turn a blind eye
Will never be my way
Say what you like
That’s my Deen, and it’s here to stay.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem