They Call It Blasphemy Poem by Rachel Bari

THEY CALL IT BLASPHEMY
They call it a consecrated
place, pure and lofty,
Where the statue of You and I
Stands mute and smiling,
And a symbol hangs in silence
Suffering quietly.

An aura of peace still
surrounds the air,
Peace that should soothe,
Comfort and solve.
But yes, contradictions exist
to trouble and confuse
This time an Alien among
the natural humans.
Blasphemy committed more
Than uttered.

It happens when natural
Instincts are suppressed
The keynote to human existence
And subjugated to folds
Of strict and painful religion

Breaking free from restraints
To naturality in places strange,
The unwanted giving place
To secrecy and instincts.
Thus making Birth and Death
Blasphemous.