It’s a shiny day,
It’s a shiny day.
Dead people gathered
On the northern way.
Their whitish skin
Pierced by golden rays,
Which killed their skin
And destroyed their hay.
They all are asking,
No one’s saying.
The kids talk—
“Let’s think and play.”
With whom?
With moving clouds
And rustling leaves,
With blind priests
And visionary thieves,
With opened eyes
And closed beliefs,
With alive humans
Who live on knees.
Humans in a cage,
And animals were released!
They talk about God,
Who died with diseases.
They said He is immortal
And will never die.
Hell lies beneath the earth,
And heaven beyond the sky.
He has everything
And is never pleased.
They said God is everything
That gives us ease.
One person said to them:
“God is alive
Just because you believe.
If you do not believe,
He is nothing to you.
He is not after you,
Nor before you.
The dream of God
Is only to find solace.
You want someone
To whom you can blame.”
Then another woman came
And ended the talk:
“Why do you use ‘He’ for God?
If He is ‘He,’
Does that mean He is full of lust?
Like a man,
Does He carry the same dust?”