In my town,

Every idea is a waste.

No moment of relief can be sought as

every thing ‘impossible’ lasts forever.

Every truth is bound to fail.

The hungry bloke labels himself a stoic by choice.

The both-worldly wisdom sells itself at a price.

Being a seer is a promising, lucrative career,

while Dervish folks can be found everywhere ye look.

Days are few, as every moment is a dusk.

Come to my town, someday.

And witness yourself that in my town,

Even misery has a clientele, suffering is

bought and sold in shopping bags,

sadness is weighed and handed over to

loyal buyers of wretchedness.

Lies are displayed in shops, and sacks

Of despair are traded in market place.

Fatwas are being auctioned, even lies

are dealt with in a dishonest manner.  

One last request, dear

when you come to my town,

don’t bring anything along. As,

in our town we are not resourceful

enough to protect you as well as your

belongings.