Untitled II

O God, if you would ever question me,
This would be my outright answer to Thee:

True, I sinned-brutalised my own being,
But what Have I done against you, my King?

Did I make myself? I’m your creation.
Why drench me in sin, Benevolent One?

I saw dungeons when I opened my eyes-
Teeming with devils, temptation and lies.

To shun death by Hunger, many a time,
In prison, I had to eat dirt and grime.

Did your dominion become any less?
Did I usurp any of your prowess?

Are you Hungry? Did I eat your ration?
Did I deprive you, cause your starvation?

Do you still seek revenge though you hilled me,
Since I rotted, since darkest soil filled me.

You built me a bridge to cross, thin as hair;
Out of your traps I’m to choose my own snare.

How can a man pass through a Hair-thin bridge?
He falls or clings on or flies off the ridge.

Your slaves build bridges for the public good,
Those who pass through it head for the Godhead.

I wish its firm foundation will hold sway
So those who cross it know it’s the true way.

You set a scale to weigh deeds, for your aim
Is to hurl me into Hell’s crackling flame.

A scale is suitable for a grocer,
For a small merchant or a jeweller.

Sin, though, is the vilest, filthiest vice,
The profit of those unworthy of Grace.

You can see everything, you know me-fine;
Then, why must you weigh all these deeds of mine?

No harm ever came from Yunus to you;
Open, secret-all things are in your view.

God Almighty, why all this talk, why must
We prattle about a handful of dust?