Shall we call it a shrine, or ode to a sin?
True face of divinity, gapes a man unawed
Many myths past, seethes a soul within
Hangs a hope half-mast, on the grave of God

Better, life was without, that holy mirage
We trudged, all along, to the “Land of Nod”
To find, a lost city, on sabotage
Rests the soul of pity, on the grave of God

He herded us, that Good Shepherd
We servile sheep, of faiths slipshod
At the edge of beliefs, stood we tethered
Blood-marked our fiefs, on the grave of God

With a capital “G”, we named, our fear
Sublime our love, for this stone, unthawed
Thru ages, only, what we care
Stands a saga lonely, on the grave of God

© 2016 Vikas Chandra