The shaman welcomes

the spirits, their wisdom is --


sweating from his pores.

Don't know what is my country, religion or caste.
Don't know what are my rituals.
I am just a child.
"Innocent Child"
If you take me,  I will become you.
If they take me, I will become them.
                                                           - Sandeep Kaushal

people have their god
               and
people have their no god
               but
neither has solid proof
                nor
the definitive answer
               only
what they truly believe in
                and
they’re so sure of themselves
               that
they’ll defend and protect their beliefs
                  if
any differences are shouted at them
                 and
they’ll hold and cradle their beliefs
               tightly
like a security blanket
                 and
they’ll preach their beliefs
                  to
any pair of ears they come across
                  it’s
the never-ending game
           straddling
the on-going centuries
                  if
you have god, go with god
                and
                  if
you have nothing, go with nothing
                 just
leave me the hell out of it:
your beliefs
      my beliefs
          his beliefs
             her beliefs
               their beliefs
                 were never a certainty.

You are bones of my bones,
Not in ownership,
In recognition.
What was a missing rib had come back whole.
Not taken to complete you,
But returned to walk beside you.

Your kindness is
Patient,
Long-suffering,
Unenvied—
It moves like light through stained glass.

You are my promised land,
Not perfect,
But flowing—
With milk and honey,
With the quiet richness of sweet moments,
Where peace is enough to make everything feel divine.

I’ve known the flood,
The wilderness,
The wandering—
But now I know the garden again.
In the way you say my name,
Standing beside you,
The missing rib finally returned.
And whole.

And if God is love,
Then loving you
Is worship,
And every moment with you
A kind of prayer
I never want to say “amen” to.

The roses grot, White doves fluttering by
Endless dreams in the sky
Untouched though, never taught how
Summer air and drenched leaves
For thou is not to teach
The dreams were never reached

The wind gliding through my soul
Little clouds flowing along
A melody of god's way untold
A repetition to understand
Listened once, forgot again

Grief they say is the last form of love
Being clawed away are these yearnings for more
They trim the leaves, water the roots
Maybe new buds, new petals, will bruit

To be god's fool, color blissful deeds
Petrels coot slandering lies above the water bed
Sent out to ramble of helpless needs,
in the blue canvas, never dead
When will the bluebirds coo?
Will they too
paint their sins, close to the dunes?

What if god is how you describe
with caressing hands and gentle eyes
You say his name so attentively
despite the one syllable Melody

When will her eyes glow for me
And not the being who took her loved
Simmering is a prayer on my lips
that is authored to no god.