Save Our Souls

I hear the sounds of the bells, the beats, the drums, the prayers.

I smell the flowers, the incense sticks, the auspicious fire smoke.

 I see the illuminating earthen lamps, the glittering lights from decoration.

 All this doesn’t make me believe you,

doesn’t for once allow my conscience to absorb your omnipresence, doesn’t make me join my hands and bow my head in front of you.

It drives me to instead question you!

“Where are you?”

                   “Where are you when innocent children get killed?”

“Where are you when women are ripped off their souls?”

“Where are you when a brother fears his own brother, ready to chop him into pieces?”

“Where are you when the strong bonds of humanity strangle themselves?”

“Where are you?”

I hear not the bells but the shrills and cries.

 I smell not incense sticks but blood.

 I see not earthen lamps and glittering lights but fire, guns and corpse.

Hopes holding the broken ropes of faith,

 with belief in their eyes and chants on their tongues.

Their hands joined to ask for help and mercy,

their eyes emptying out the endless emotions.

How long would one wait to see the bright lights descend from heaven to chase away the clouds of disparity?

The lives have been taken, given, sold, slaughtered but for how long?

How many sacrifices would it require a stone to turn real, a cross to stand straight, a book to break words into wonder?

I hear trumpets of celebration every now and then, but that was past, that became a ritual or may be a habit under the name of belief.

Would that dissolve only to become once said folklore?

Would that sublime only to be lost in the history of time?

Where is the justice? The justice of Lord!

They say sooner or later the justice is done, but how long is later? 1day? 1month? 1 year? 1decade? 1 life? 1earth?

May be eternity!!

Believes are shaken, faith is broken,

someday there will be no hope also. The countdown has begun.

It’s just a matter of time, a matter of generations and ages

 before THE HOLY NAME would just remain on the tattered pages

rather than in the minds and on the tongues.

The hope is slipping from those hands like the water, drop by drop.

 The belief is running out from the crevices like sand.

Even if You are there, you may be into the deep sleep of meditation, oblivious of your own creation,

 forgetting your own promise, to dwell on your creation and halt the apocalypse,

or maybe only to just reverse the hourglass, and begin it all over again.

May be You are waiting for us to choke,

 before all the sand passes through the pore.

Or may be to fill in, till the bottle neck arrives and that is when You

stop the time there forever, never to start it again.

Leaving behing the trail of broken beliefs and false faith,

Leads Your call of supremacy and silence of our untold sins.