In a world where deceiving uncertainty grows
Who would show man the spring where pure fact flows?

When the bright days are covered by dense nights
Whose front would you take in these constant fights?

Now, listen to the story of the merchant and his green parrot,
That would instantly make the heart of every dull man ferret

Behold how, Mawlana, the man of wisdom has told the story
That would question all the facts narrated in our history

In an old town by the sea where people were kind yet,
Had an oil merchant a booth and finance finely set.

He had kept a bird that could manly talk  
An Indian parrot in a cage that would seize every passenger’s sight

The Man’s commerce and name advanced in the world
Talking parrot in the booth helping his lovely lord  

Once when the merchant had left the place lonely with the bird
To go and thank God’s mercy in his earthy word    

Rushed in the booth hastily a chasing cat
To catch and meal a running filthy rat

The beings ran from one corner of the place to another
The nervous parrot moved his wings in the cage too bothered

Flew out the cage and spilled the jars of oil
In blink of an eye wasted the merchant’s life toil

Believing the bird has broken the jars
The merchant punished him hit his head hard

Parrot’s head became bald in a week due  
Possessed by guilt the man left nothing much to do  

The bird halted speech uttered no words
In spite of his lord’s endless kind efforts  

The merchant’s toil returning parrot’s manly word
Achieved him nothing but lessened jars sold  

Passing suns led the merchant to forget creed
As if bird had no talking tongue once or that manly deed

Came a day when the bird saw a bald passing by man  
Shook his wings amazed of what he digest not can

Opened mouth uttered words follow long years,  
“You shall have broken oil jars for you don’t have hairs”.  

Keep in mind folk what you hear or your eyes see
Shall not lead you to absolute unquestionable certainty

For a smiley face does not mean a heart pain-free
Or a man without a degree, a dump stupid would-be  

The one that stands behind the prison’s iron bars we built    
May not be the man who we have asserted him the guilt

And if one chooses silence to pointless shout
He may not be mute or a speechless goat  

In a world covered by the loud voice of uncertainty
Take this advice folk, find nirvana and peace in your self’s serenity.