A storm-tossed world demands the truth.
Everyone goes to it with a lie.
He would tear the corrupt ones apart,
Would consider flawless
Only himself.

Standing at the center, hyenas all around,
With what chalk to circle yourself off from them?
Buddha’s, Christ’s, Avicenna’s,
To make the predators happy and not become the prey?

You cannot do without cunning
When wisdom and holiness fall short.
Maybe we will reach the truth someday,
But for now we perfect our mischief.