Jerusalem
Oh, My Dear Son,
Don’t weep to read my will,
Never try to dig a well of my time,
No need to touch a heap of my ashes,
No need to scratch my scattered skeleton,
Don’t try to acknowledge the fact of my death.
My ancestor was the Son of God,
He was crucified when he demands justice,
His elders killed him innocently,
He conveyed a message to his followers,
Mercy is a path for living,
Forgiveness is a destiny of life.
Over the centuries his children,
They knew that we all are brother and sisters,
But killed each other and insulted him,
Who sacrified for their saviour,
What was that lesson?
We all are brothers and sisters.
Who failed to across a barrier of colour and creed?
Who seed weapons and produce terrorism?
They killed innocents and humiliate children and women,
They delivered war and cried for peace,
And never cried to see an innocent killings,
Modern glory is the cause of human blood.
They never stood up on my birthplace,
They ignored all those scattered bodies,
The Jews, Muslim and Christian,
But all of them are my blood,
The blood of Abraham, Jesus and Mohammed,
They never learnt from his dad,’ how to walk?’
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