The Stranger’s Traveling – Poem

Everything to money comes down

But to God before and after is all weighed up

Count what you have in your pocket

It is all you are measured with.

Neither Goodness nor Reasoning matches it.

Neither principles nor puzzles have it

As a child; silly or a youth; too ambitious

No convictions are invoked

You are only wanted to stay handcuffed

Only used and abused

And relegated you expire

And melancholic you die

*****

For so long you have learnt to have good faith

Honest-hearted always to peace inclined

But you have not learnt to take your right

From the wolf’s fangs

And to turn fierce fighting those who fight you

Or to strongly stand out with your principles

This is only to end up empty-handed

And to spend the rest of your lifetime your fingers biting

*****

Count what you have in your pocket

It is all that people around you are counting

And even those who are close to you

Blasting you with heavy doses of praising

Disclosing attention and love to you

To them you are not beyond the price of a bread loaf.

*****

Do not be sad, O friend!

Were this eartly life of value,

It would not have been ruled by impostors

Followed by idiots.

*****

Fetch out the bag of honor

With all that makes of you a human

And travel the stranger’s travelling

Away from them lest as they are

You turn poor.

Endure the shortage,

The burning heat,

The oppressing wind of pain

And worship your Lord until

Certainty comes to you.

Translated by Chokri Omri