“When my bloodline leads, to my holy land
From a rootless being, founded ages ago
If my destiny, drew a line in the sand
How would I know, which way to go!
I kiss thy soil, to smell my creed
Weigh a thousand years, of estrangement
O Mecca! If thou not, my sinful seed
Why my riotous past, be my hostile present!
This land of solace, that land of enigma
Amidst the two, endures, a Muslim’s fear
‘Western sins’ versus, my ‘faith’s fatwa’
How to compromise, Quran’s diktats, austere!
Whose conquests are they, whose defeats?
Whose crusades fought, on Paris streets?
Are bombs answers, to haunting quests?
Why we bathe in blood, our loved bequests?
This hate is shared, so hard to confess!
Our skull-caps and hijabs, azans, five prayers
Their free-love, faith-charades, and brazenness
And yet, the twain share, same blood and tears!
Not to seek mercy, nor to tryst with God
Nor to awe and rejoice, holy happenstance
But to find myself, beyond a faith’s façade
On a pilgrimage of chance, drifts A Haji From France!”
© 2016 Vikas Chandra