A foggy winter evening, 
Covered in dark clothing, 
Through the haze, silently sitting; 
Hot-coffee and me--sipping; 
In a desolate corner of the cafe.   
A Muslim,  a Jew, a Christian; 
A Hindu, an Atheist-all sitting; 
They gossip, drink, laughing, 
Like good old friends, beaming; 
Life became good and teeming. 
Then came two gentlemen, staring; 
Holy Books in their hands, dangling; 
Long gowns and beard, donning; 
The wheels in Cafe now turning, 
Faster than the warplanes bombing. 
A comrade with his hate resolution, 
Other with his book, cutting passion; 
Third is not ready to leave any obsession;  
all fought, attacked and beat each creation; 
With all possible energy and vision. 
With dark around destroying, 
Close connected friends creating, 
Disorder in every nation spreading, 
The peace-loving unable to ferrying; 
A toxic gust of Holy and radical books.                
 
                    This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
 
                    