Nasim

This poem was in our Oriya (my native language) literature. I thought about translating and here's a version.
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No praise be to thee, O' Lord
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I'm not bowing to thee,
O' the God of Padre and Brahmin;
O' the God of Temple and Church,
O' the God of Maulvis and Mullahs;
I'm not bowing to thee.
My regrads are for those helpless folks,
The tears of whom bed'weds the pages of history.
Millions of those hapless, innocent heads,
Torn, ripped apart by thy minions;
Hopeless, folded hands extending in thy prayer,
O' the ever beneficent God,
Is this thy will;
When a father, a husband cries in agony,
Witnessing their daughter, wife being raped;
And you also witness it in remorseful silence.
Those barbarian messenger of thee,
Slaying the 'sinners'
In thy name, by thy order.
From thy heaven thee look,
And have been for all along human history;
Threats flow, billions slain, still men flee.
Countries upturned, races annihilated,
Folks flee from thy torturing preachers' band,
To save their skin, beloved land-house-money all behind.
So this rebel doesn't bow to thee,
He bows to the will of those
Those displaced, slain, shelterless-- for thy cause.
O' the God of benevolent hate!
Those minions of thee,
Severed-heads, tear-torrents, cries of despair,
Are their daily food;
And they build altars for thee.
Yes, for thee, O' the 'praiseworthy' emperor of emperors;
And thy minions flock and fill thy altars,
Praying, singing thy praise only;
Unmoved by zillion heart-rending cries, O' the best Barbarian!
You've heeded only the prayers of these murderers;
Did the White-men's despisable acts,
Escaped thy omnipresent sight?
Where humans were sold like commodities;
Where human-butchers pulled apart infants and lactating mothers;
Wives were separated from husbands and from fathers, their sons;
The menacing blood-stained lash,
On bare backs did it crash.
Yet the coffers of your loafers gets more and more shine;
By divine grace of thine.
Are the cries of these millions of tortured souls
So unworthy of thy high golden throne?
Lo! Here stands the pompous Church,
Of heartless beasts, bearing thy banner,
And within its finely engraved walls, the priest,
Brags of the mercy of the 'Father' in heaven;
and next moment spitting venom on heeden. (heeden=the faithless)
Incredible drama O' God, incredible!
And so, my dear non-existent God,
I bow in respect only for those men and women,
The homeless, tortured, poor folks trampled to earth.
All this is such a fake; fake fake conspiracy;
You're the worst blind belief of human mind.
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O' the need derived God,
O' the God of Church and Temple,
O' the symbol of blind disbelief,
Ever tortured, unhappy and cursed;
This rebel doesn't bow thee, doesn't bow to thee, doesn't bow to thee.....