A Far Cry from Secularism
Envisioned in a different light, clouds gather.
Storm clouds, rise from the north.
The mighty Himalayas are overshadowed,
By the height of parochialism.
Heads bow before gods and godmen,
Heads bow over guillotines.
The immolation continues to give rise,
To forest fires that consume the spirit
Of hundred and seventeen thousand,
Three hundred and sixty nine written words,
That our forefathers idealised.
The cry of children ring amidst the midst of
Slogans calling out to man-made gods,
Who care less about divine creations
Than the demons in disguise.
Ghosts of faith linger in derelict churches,
With shattered stained glass windows
And blood stained pews.
The corpses of confessions rot in cemeteries,
Unguarded by cereberus, overlooked by death.
The Crocus sativus with its bright green stem,
Grows like a weed, subject to ample showers of pesticide, covering the bright sky,
With white fluffy clouds.
The eastern sky is a bright red with the blood of Rohingyas
A cyclone brewing in the Bay of Bengal.
Houses ransacked for fear of hidden idols,
That fail to make home in decrepit hearts.
The cherubims extend out their flaming swords,
For some semblance of protection from
Ignorance, spread through fanaticism.
Warm red blood sheds warm red blood.
Beating heart stops the beating of another.
Bigotry eats the flesh of brotherhoods,
As anthems of equality and fraternity eat dust,
Amidst the ruins of the architectures of antiquity.
Where then shall we find the hope of a future,
Preconized in national texts, promulgated in scriptures, proclaimed in folk lore?
Children run through rivers of blood,
Stained in the soot of misery,
For homes are torn by religion,
Taken over by national identity.
Man evolves but faith does not,
Holding on to the dried bones of a father,
Who has adopted another for the sake of sanity.
Brothers fight brothers for promises unfulfilled,
Left unclaimed amidst boasts of propriety.
Barren home bear witness to baseless genocide.
Refugees in ancestral lands, Kept on the border of faith,
Praying hands take up hand grenade.
Hope dwindles in temples with mosques blaring prayers of peace,
Understood through distorting lenses of Jihad.
Paradise made a bargaining chip in a transaction of heaven and hell.
Fanaticism doesn't come in a particular colour.
Malala's are not shot for their gender or age,
But for a voice of reason that must go unheard.
Identities get blurred under the fight for labels,
Religion, ethnicity, race, politics.
Who we are is buried under layers of prejudice.
Who we were born to be,
Strangulation, stabbed and skinned by intransigence.
The carcass still lies on the road as you bicker.
The scavengers make a feast of your grievances.
Death dances a tango with War.
The greenery turned to a purple mesh
Of blood and gore.
When will the violence cease?
The primate is culled after the fight is over,
Or subjugated to suffer a life of slavery.
Woe to the nation that boasts of forbearance.
Multibillion deities cannot concede the murder for the sake of prejudice.
Where are you O Jerusalem?
Why is the Ganges tinged with blood of innocents?
Waves rise in oceans, earthquakes sound in protest.
Arise conscience rise.
Meet the demand of humanity.