Religions - Poem by Aniruddha Pathak
Cadavers of forgotten truth
Captured long ere in ancient age,
Kept imprisoned in golden cage,
And e’er since dead—dead in their youth,
Truth, few tried to digest, work with,
Much less realised or relished,
Now to the masses as is dished
Out as assorted myth;
Truth in its metered, footed beauty,
Every word captured as was heard,
Each singing like rarest of bird,
Looking winsome in captivity;
Its truth remaining still much blurred,
Behind bars, imprisoned, unheard!
And men not quite in search of knowledge,
Forget can scarce the golden cage,
Nor can transcend its beauty’s rage,
Prisoner of every word bare,
From age to age eager to share,
The same long-rotting cadaver
That he fondly calls religion.
Bequeathed to each generation,
Promising for hereafter, heaven,
Each losing an essence from core,
Each getting rotten a tad more,
Ever the worse than never before,
Perhaps why religions so much smell,
Few knowing this still, such is their spell
For followers— frogs in a well
That reason with their heart, not head,
Having tonnes of hate and hatred
In green or white, or shades of red!
No, religion has ever opened doors,
Nor has it led believers safe to shores.
If religion born is from fears that grow,
As God invented was from loose ends,
How can pure nectar from it flow?
How’d oil drip from desert’s dry sands?
But where, where’s the escape?
There seems no deliverance from this rape
Of faith, as truth first enters head,
Appreciated, enjoyed, though dead,
Ere can reach a long waiting heart,
And stay there for many a birth
Before proving its worth;
Is there a way apart?
- Satire | 05.07.14 |
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