One day, I noticed a frenzied faqīr:
Younus, the crazy, in my daydream
Walking down a street in downtown neighbourhood
He knew no other language, but only broken mother tongue
A Mullah passed by, and called out to him
To give him a reason to utter shitty words
Younusā! What shall you do there?
In the grave where two angels: Nakër and Munkar- -
The denier and the denied- -
Shall come and question you- -
For your belief and disbelief- -
In God's chosen language, most dear to Him
But alas! that language you don't know
And on the Day of Justice- -
When God shall call you to His court
Where the court language shall be Arabic
How could a psychotic speak Arabic!
The chosen language of God!
As people are made to believe without raising a brow
But, Younusā was thrilled to know,
And he heaved a sigh of relief- -
Hah! Hah! Hah! he giggled exuberantly
How can there be my reckoning!
Neither I'll comprehend His questions,
Nor shall He allow me to answer
In my mother tongue
Mullah got in rage and told him in a shouting voice
Yeah stupid shit! reckoning is for sure,
You can't get scot-free;
You have to account for your ills and goods
Younusā with folded hands pleaded to the Mullah- -
"Please beg God to give me permission
To allow me speak in my mother tongue
That is the end, my final word! "