i dare not talk
something bad about
Siddhartha
or Jesus
or Mohammad
what they did
when they suffered and
sacrificed
we cannot fathom
since we were not there
in the first place in
their own time and
place
their steps and
ends
they deserve
what respect time had
given them
never had i felt
that sense that i can be greater
by saying
that they lied or
that they are never
true
or that possibly
they could have
said otherwise
or that
they are not
existing anymore
or once
existed as you
tried to imply
in your last
line.
whether we like it or not
God is there
and does
not change
it is this immutability of
this belief
that keeps me going
and going
though i am not certain
why and where.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem