There will be no books in Heaven
There will be Allah and his believers.
Each enjoying his thirty two virgins
in the dimness of whorls of hookah-smoke
and pungent bidis, bronze spitoons
full of red thick saliva salivated
by his betel-nut-chewing followers.
And too, deafening music twenty four seven,
goblets full of rose-fragrant wine poured
from earthen pitchers carried in the slender
arms of virgens with transparent bodies
from various harems. Allah knows all.
All aljebra and poetry, all geography and
heavenly bodies for He Himself created all
of them. Moreover, there will be only
virgins there, no mention nowhere of
non-virgins anywhere in heaven.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Deafening music twenty-four seven would not be my idea of Heaven!