Islamic
(Draft of a second poem) In every place and time there lies a blood stained land Where people die with martyr´s blood which stains the yellow sand Perhaps a place within our minds which kills all false ideas But with it love and peace are pushed to fall and disappear like Hussain on the battlefield or Hasan´s poisoned cup we seem to live history anew by thoughts which do corrupt Silently we think our thoughts from places dark inside which reaps a battle outwardly which never does subside and then we mourn as saints the men whose blood they left behind not knowing we ourselves did kill by our false thoughts in mind