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Aditi Jan 28
I bleed in silence, in
Abandoned cathedrals,
Monasteries, and holy Shrines.
I have looked for you,
Begged the grand idols,
Visited crumbling walls
Of burnt out cities,
And antiquities -
All the places they told me
You had been.

My eyes see red
But I'm blue,
And there's a bruise
On my knee-
A blend of both.
My lips no longer move in prayers
My eyes have no tales to tell-
But my poems scream
And I live - on a middle ground
Between the two
-a whimper on nights,
A sad smile during days.

You're not coming for the rescue, are you?

I ache and long, now
More than I can love
But for what? Is it you?
I never could commit suicide,
But I killed myself, every moment,
Till I heard the rhythm of that heavenly call
In your footsteps
And how you filled even the silences between us
With grace
And I was seen, and I could see
And I was loved with a love
That I could accept.

If our love had two colors,
It'd be red and blue
Like any God,
You came with your own set of rules.
Passionate red, that you brought
And the blues that I always carry
Red and blue icy veins -
With the same emotions flowing through.
But you were taken away too.
And now I'm neither red, nor blue
But despondent brown
The color of the dirt, the only thing
Separating me and you.

You're not coming back, are you?

I walk on,
I don't rest and I don't sleep.
How can there be a God if there's no justice?
And the moon is not blue with sadness;
Nor does it cry with me.
And the stars are just as oblivious and distant.
And the sun, well, it never bothered
to shine on any of us.
I see a world now, as it is,
Stripped of meaning
and all its metaphorical use.

If I could be colored,
I'd choose red and blue-
Burning bright
with a frigid determination.
To save the soul,
Sometimes you must
destroy its vessel
And when a world dies, its gods must die along.

None of you came, so I had to come to you.
The Good Book says that we are to be in the Earth, but not of the Earth.

But when I feel the hot desert sand beneath my feet
And the blood of my indigenous ancestors pumping through my veins
And the dry wind rushing down from the mountains

And when I join in the collective energy of a crowd
Jumping to the pulsing vibrations of music,
Catching each other’s eyes and laughing big and full and whole

And when I feel the might of the ocean lifting me, cradling me
Holding me in its mercy.
And when my tongue experiences the rich burn of chiles
and my throat feels the sting of liquor cultivated from the Earth,

I know that she is my mother and that I am of her.  
That my body is made of the same stuff as her oceans  
And mountains and creatures.  
My spirit is hers, and I am in awe of her.

The Good Book says anyone who loves their father or mother  
Or son or daughter more than me,
Is not worthy of me.

But I feel the profundity of the love of my mother and grandmother
With more intensity than I have ever felt sitting inside church walls.
And I find the knowledge that they have both held my DNA within their bodies

And when I feel the warm weight of my baby cousins on my lap  
Their small fingers tracing along my forearm
I understand the nature of love in its simplest form,
A love that is a mixture of flesh and spirit
And I am in awe of such love.

The Good book says to wives, submit to your husband, as to the Lord.

But when I look at my students
All girls, all sass, all laughs, and all of fourteen
The word I see written across their lips  
And draped over their shoulders
is not ‘submit’
But ‘conquer’.  

And I understand that, as all natural things do,
Wives have adapted to compensate for weaker bodies
With stronger minds
With a perception and an instinct  
And a fortitude that boggles the mind.
And I am in awe of them.

The Good Book says if a man lies with a man as with a woman,  
both have committed an abomination.

But when I see the tenderness with which two people can love,
The way two minds and two bodies can find one another
Separate lives, separate brains, separate universes
Unreconcilable and rigid  
Like atoms slamming against one another
To create something new  
Against all odds, against all reason, against all logic

I know that partnership is a miracle  
Many will never be fortunate enough to experience
And I am in awe of it.

The Good Book says that the wicked will go down to the realm of the dead,  
all the nations that forget God.

But what nation has forgotten God?
Surely no nation that can create art that transcends the human experience
Or which can lift their feet in dance and play  
Surely no nation that looks up to the stars
And retains the ability to feel small  

And when I think of the realm of the dead
It is not hellfire that I see
But the place where my grandcestors live
The place just out of view where their songs still resonate.

And when I think of the wicked  
I think of the lost who will one day be found.
The long suffering ones infected by the injustices of life
Who in death will not find a lake of fire
But final, restful, long awaited peace.

The Good Book says that it is a good book.

But when I hold it in my hands
And let the onion skin flutter against my fingers
I see words written by men who were afraid.
Afraid of death
Afraid of women
Afraid of their bodies
Afraid of chaos
Afraid of the other
Afraid of the Earth

And what grains of beautiful truth  
Remain lying the book
Have become obscured by the centuries
Until I am forced to wonder if
Taken within the context of its ****** history
The good book is really a good book at all.
Hadiy Syakir Jul 2018
Looking for the words
the exact words of prayers
in several agnostic pages
with untidy, scattered phrases
- blindfold yourself like
how you're used to all this time.

In the backyard
of your six feet layers
of loneliness
interrogate the dogs,
like when you breathe in
the happiness.

all the words.


Express yourself
like how you make love
to the dark, feverish heartache.
Brent Kincaid Jun 2018
My god told me
To **** those who are different.
My god told me
That genocide is efficient.
"Go into their land
And **** every living creature."
I saw it on TV just last week
In a Technicolor double feature.

My god told me
*** people are abomination
My god told me
To hold back children’s rations.
Rip babies out of parent’s arms
Because they are terrorists
Pay no attention to the heartache
That’s just how my god’s law is.

My god told me
It matters about the color of skin
People can be born inhuman
Depending on the country you’re in.
It’s not as bad to be a dark person
If you stay in dark people lands,
But here in the good old USA they
Only deserve to be migrant hands.

My god told me
What’s sin for other people to do
Is not a sin for me to commit
The criminal things done by you.
My god told me
It’s just fine to cheat on my wife.
As long as I go to church weekly,
I will have a wonderful, godly life.

My god told me
Other people have to wrong idea
About who is god and who is not
And who will burn with the devil
In some place below, where it’s hot.
My god told me
To worship no god but him, it’s true.
Well, I worship Jesus, his misnamed son
So, I’m going to heaven, aren’t you?
grim-raven Mar 2018
it was nice living life
pretending to know what is right
pretending to see what is real

in this senseless world
i was hopeful
somehow thankful
that i once knew you
and if what they are saying is true
that you are there
watching from above
the holy mighty creator of love

thank you

and this is not a trial or a phase or a social experiment of some kind
i am truly hopeful that one day
someone can prove the existence of the highly improbable

because i did lose faith
in your people
in your existence
in my 'religion'

but now im trying
really hard to know the truth
and i know you, among everyone else, will understand
ashley mckee Feb 2018
when people ask me why I’m not religious,
I tell them stories
of all the people I have ever believed in.
I relive the memories
and the heartbreak
and I explain how each of them
earned my faith.
they were my friends;
they were tangible
and they were real
and they left me behind.
so, what am I supposed to expect
from some god who hides their face?
I've had enough
of people putting on masks
and lying to me through their teeth.
at least I can look them in the eye
when I tell them
that I don't believe in them anymore.
anotherken Dec 2017
The exponential term of the heretics,
All the lies and the gimmicks.
Everybody, rejoice in the freak show!
A melting *** of incompetent hosts.
A salad that's burning, turning
Hurting, learning and merging
Into a concoction full with disorder.
Into a world filled with borders.

Nobody knows.
Hey, who has time to learn and show?
Certainly not me.
Even the priest or a normal person, his time is not free.
As such, he hides the world's holes.
With words filled with selfish goals.
"Who are we?"
"We're the important humans, and that's all we could be."

4 years of understanding, is what I'd ask.
To get rid of the extravagant and unnecessary mask.
888 days of confusion,
And 666 days of rebellion.
Grab your forks and torches.
To destroy the flag of snakes, and let us come to our senses.
All these insignificant nonsense.
It doesn't make sense to take defense.

3 more kings giving gifts.
More men prosecuted for giving his race a lift.
"All of this is for nothing."
"I am nothing."
Isn't it confusing?
Is a more sensible thing to keep on living?
Without gods, or prophets.
The modern era doesn't need more puppets.

The modern asphyxiation.
Everyday, full of idiots that can't handle vision.
The idiots who will argue and argue.
Bleeding ears for the few,
Who understand, but will never speak.
Because they are still weak.
But in the end.....
But in the end.....

Who am I to talk?
I'm in the minority.
The sheep who flock east,
Feeding on the feast.
While, I, alone on the west.
And live my life.
Away, from these crumbling heights.

Prove me that your theories and your beliefs are the right ones.
Call me edgy, but people nowadays are being too clingy or dependent on a god that won't be there for them all the time. Pray this, pray there. And at the same time, atheists rant about all these **** about "Oh, gods don't exist."

How can we be so sure, and what difference does it make? We make our way by ourselves.
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