Clear your throat a bit poet
And sing your song a little bit louder
Here the soil is uneven
And wind blows in a curve.

Raise your voice a little bit, poet
And sing your songs in a higher pitch
Here streams are rusty
And rays fall in an unequal length

Milk of kindness here also flows
Like a river tears also shed
But they are conceived in mind
After looking the color of sorrow

Here all pain is not the same
All death s are not equally a loss
As if logic here has its own religion
And the flame of reason has its own race


Sing poet, sing a bit louder
And pitch up your tone
Here hate is bloomed like a flower
And like crops prejudices are grown.

Abdul Wahab

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/poet-62/