What gods have you created
for fear of being wrong.
What idols possessed that gentle heart
that was given to you at birth
and you mistook as an omen of the weak.
A vagabond—so resolute—so sure
that in the writings of your mind you are correct.
What proof have you?
What scriptures of ancient text
or write yourself that will explain
your difference in love as well as faith.
Tell us in what elementary mind
was God ever the creator of your hate.
You scream out that your religion
is the only proper creed.
That no one else will make it to the top
and in your thought of thoughts
only your kind will success.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem