My caste.
My creed.
For what they have been,
Belong to the fact:
Wherever I see a mosque,
A church, a shrine,
Or, a synagogue.
Their images come readily created
As many Houses of God…
Where in the name of pure freedom:
I bow. I bow. I bow.
I hope.
I pray.
Not at a gun-point,
I will strip my faith.
Give me the touch of all gospels!
They plainly state:
Never in the grip of blind beliefs,
One is a devout Hindu, Sikh,
Christian, Muslim or Buddhist.
Realizing this, I would never dare
To break the sacred code of any scripture.
We all know:
From the violence of the ‘main-few’,
Brews the wrath in entire nations.
We also know:
It is of no consideration to ‘them’ –
Why the young die so young –
Killed while picking strawberries,
Or, on their way to school.
How the trays of love and laughter,
Are easily snatched away!
From our sons, daughters, grandchildren.
For us, only scar-like memories remain,
In the preparation of fear,
Or, digging fresh new graves.
I am not sure,
Where the passion of hatred –
Flaring more vengeance,
Will lead us all to…
In the name of hope for peace –
High up, God’s image remains.
In His knowledge alone,
I bow. I bow. I bow.
From the book: An Indian Ode To The Emirates by Geeta Chhabra (published in April 2011).
