Some people I have seen always at prayer
Believe they will find the road to heaven
Clutching their sins
Left hand hiding behind the spinal
And the right counting rosary beads,
What ignorance from their pathetic
Limp purpose-less heart seeps!
Disgrace a good deed
Full of gossip their conversation from A to Z
Begins each syllable I want-to-be-better-than-he
They live sightless, root-less when Belonging
Vomits them out and Sense befriends Scorn
In pools of stale water they languish
Swimming ungraceful surpassing the toads,
Tearing my brain into two I have wondered
What the angels would say of such a race?
Whether the earth was polluted enough
To have a new-makeover, rejuvenate
Visage coarsened with disused life effaced
Living blind tradition defacing culture’s name
Walking, talking, sleeping, eating, thinking
Visible holes of history cannot be hidden
Can we not this stinking stocking replace?
But I cherish God, my God in my own way
I do not preach what practice does not say,
Nor over-smother in grandeur glory utter
That which would be a lie,
His Highness now couldn’t be larger-than-life
Or how could my veins let him dwell and
Within my heart these artificial portraits paint?
In mirror’s reflection a twisted dazed image
Unable to recognize their selves reflected shattered iris,
When the last page has turned; end of life itself invites,
Knock…knock, and, “who is it?” their cowardly soul
In terror replies, “not yet, not yet,” is all they can mutter.