You were starving the words
to commit the waves of hunger.
What I wanted was a patch of shade
under an olive grove.
No intrusion. It was a miscarriage
of justice. We were searching the -
missing links between the years
of misunderstandings.
We sell our gods and move on
unquietly to understand the-
lament of middle of the road, when
sun was nestling in the clouds.
It was Fall. Fall of vanity, fall of
integrity. Fall, fall-
my pride, my tears. The season
was changing.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Have we sold our Gods? I do not know about other religions, but as far as Hinduism is considered, Our religion has no beginning and the end, as it is way of life. We have managed to survive 500 years of atrocity under Moghul Dynasty and the subsequent East India company's missionary activities. We have lost only 18% of our population to these religions. We are Hindus, very humble Hindus.