I walk me
And I hold my hand
As father does the son's
To take me to the Golden Ring
Near Moscow…and the churches.
They did resist the Lenin and Stalin
And I follow the papers bearing names
Bearing requests: "Save Dear God please …"
And I hold my hand
As father does to the son's
And lead me to a Gurdwara
And take me to a Hindu temple
And lit candles, similar to a letter
I wrote to God; and bow and kneel…
And I hold my hand
As father does the son's
And walk me into an alley
In Kabul where the old man
Holds his wet male part in pants
With a hand; and with another holds
His cummerbund…
And I do same with many other temples
Mentioned here…unmentioned…
And I feel my heart divided among them all
And I love the mankind as I love the flowers
The flowers vary tin shapes and smells, in garden.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem