Why can't I ever have peace?
Or be happy?
I have given away almost all I have.
Sometimes when this heart grows weak
And my conscience strong,
And I cannot sustain its repeated demand,
I am tempted even to give away
What I have left, locked away.
Will it satisfy the insatiable hunger
Of those who are always pestering my conscience.
Will it give me peace?
Will it make me happy?
Shall I see a world
Where man has not stooped so low?
With nothing left to feed myself,
Having given everything away
I will have to fit a begging bowl
Out for myself.
Who is genuine,
And who is fake
The line is very thin between.
In this complicated world the old conscience
Is dying an untimely death!
God’s names and hypocrisy have become close comrades in business.
And charity another name for living shamelessly off another’s sweat and labour.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem