The Builders Poem by Muhammad Shanazar

Who knows what loss do we meet,
When spend moments of the life spoilingly,
And lazily surfeit the mouth of lust,
Turning back to the pure deeds of purity,

The curtain was raised for moments a few,
And I was shown the toiling busy hands,
Whose movements are attached to our deeds,
And was led to the world of sandy soil,
Uneven humps stretched beyond the sight,
Plains unvegetated, or without forest green,
Neither light nor darkness prevailed the zone.

A region was specified for the work of construction,
The fresh dug earth laid long in heaps,
Along the trenches of foundations deep,
Some half erect buildings I did see,
The rooms roofless, the yards wide open,
With no walls around, confining the lawns.

A team of laborers I did find resting,
Sitting alert in rows straight and long,
Besides them laid their shovels and pikes,
I was disclosed the mind baffling mystery,
“They are The Builders, move their hands,
When we perform the blessed living deeds,
And they take rest when humanity sleeps”.