God in praise spoke the beloved words
my faithful and discreet slave to his
trusty loyal servant but I am not discreet!
I take the bloodied stones cast
to stone to death judged souls;
lay them upon their pitiful sand
scraped graves, so wild beasts
will not consume their ripped blood
bathed bodies, I weep dry tears
upon dust, this their cruel judgement
burial ground; for were they not
created in divine, holy image of Allah?
Copyright © Terence George Craddock
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem