We wished for their un-impending doom
Deep through all terrains, a river flows—it has been with us since the fiery-dawn,
Gutting poison into our sacred systems, cutting its way into our minds.
Faith conjured our wall abode.
“A neighbour must fall, abandon reason, invade our homes.”
“Don't look as they approach in swarms! Never deter from the sight of God.”
I saw my peers follow the priest in his chase of God, to affirm himself, and the rest
of the time he'd spent in the name of faith,
and that the pain is ever-perseverant for the people of God.
“The brutalisation imposed is a must.”
Everyone gave into his words, even the ones who'd been kept alive for sole-extortion—
in mid-hours, when the shadow falls short—work begins, late into dusk.
The garden I tended to was a foreign home that I'd groomed—
after two-decades of my feeble life, I came to realise:
People of my kind have no culture, or heritage of their own; or a good faith to abide by.
The incomplete, when kicked-down to his feet, must seek for an affirming hand.
As the self crumbles into null, a master must be sought, to offer a better command.
I found solace in a faith of the furthermost-place from my home,
once I took my head out of the drowning-mud of this elusive foreign-land.
The statue in the shrine asked little besides the enactment of good-will,
and abandonment of deservant-claims.
For once, I was welcomed in a group of five—the monks smiled,
walking by as I admired the foreign-shrine.
They offered me a robe, but I had to reject—
my garden called back its ‘repellent of pests’.
I couldn't stay in those fields,
to stumble into mud again, strip away the serene with my foul being—
I couldn't afford another flinched gaze.
“Sometimes the bitter truth…”
I called it off as the Garden’s call;
it doesn't see what prejudice surrounds me in the plains—
comfort at last, stinged away all ambitions I had.
I was born estranged, the unembellished, unachieved vanish in the same way they came.