The vast areas of gray reminds me of the fumes. Of burning tyres, crackling glass and an underlying current. The greatest power that one has is to create a religion, not to destroy them. The Hindus and their million Gods are just the avatars of different human personalities. The Muslims have no God. Only their superior power. Of mosques, mullahs and Quran. Christianity is the epitome of controversy of whether Jesus is black, gay, single / married. Sikhs are fighting for a cause. Whose? Jews are hiding with vengeance. Communal riots are not mere fantasies of religious and political leaders. Some of them are rooted deep in the hearts of the cowards who need a blanket of security and some of them with the heroes who would like to save their kinfolk from elements that are petty in thinking but potent in damaging all forms built with great hands of hardship. In between these there are mobs. Mind you! Mob behaviours appear atrocious and ridiculous. Try telling it to your brother whose neck is brushing the knife of a fanatic. Pull down the fortress around an individual and see him become the beast of folly. The only one who can save you is yourself. The only way to save is by awakening the inner demon. Keep it without hurting it. That will be your power. The power not to destroy when you can.
Watching milk white fog Painted across the hills Tried to find a bridge Crossing a needy heart Squinted eyes hurt In search of water Gushing down far away Like tears of forlorn soldier The kind Sun stepped Bore the misty clouds Quenching his thirst He smiled upon the old man Diamonds drifted Like near heavens Of a love spectrum Bowing to ‘Pa His three telescopes Were no companions Two were dead sons But this one fed him
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