The Shaken Faith Poem by Satish Verma

Incandescent―
the oil lamps floating
on the holy river, have
started bleeding.

So much blood had spilled
on the street, after
slitting the throats of a
runaway couple.

This was not my religion.

Do not steal me from my
footsteps, wounded by
the gifts given by you, I
will not come back.

I have stopped reading our gods.

It was the lynching of the savior.
Let me count the dots and―
dashes, the unsaid crimes
of opening the text books.