To the God, His own doing,
To the angels, let them in their bliss.
Heavens and hell, no one has seen
Good and bad, leads to morality.
Poets of the world, why don’t then,
You come down, and be mortals.
Why don’t you write for the living
Your dead spirits, rusted imagination.
We are sick of you, the Heavens too,
Why don’t you do your own thing,
Saying prayers, vigils and drunken orgies
Even the skies, want to shut its doors on you.
SadiqullahKhan
Peshawar
April 28,2013.
Edvard Munch: Melancholy,1894
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem