I often wonder if they hear me right,
on the days when I am moved enough,
to exclaim ‘Oh my God’ in all its glory.
Do my countless Hindu god’s
understand my foreignness?
Do they bless me, do they address
my grievances or just transfer me
from temple to temple.
Do my prayers fall on deaf walls when
I chant them in a non-Arabic tongue
silently under the sacred
Domes of the grand mosque?
Does “Allah’ enunciated
by my non-Muslim lips
in the house of Jesus,
on the earth of Golgotha
offend the latter’s ears?
If we build a tower of Babel
what language will we choose?
Perhaps we will talk in gun tongue.
If I fire one bullet, you will fire two.
If I speak with AR-15, you will answer
with a Kalashnikov.
This new age Lingua Franca.
What will god do then?
Whilst we fight mercilessly
over our god’s.
They recline in heaven
on their push back chairs.
The din is getting to them
They are riled, they are disillusioned
They open the window
The plumbing of heaven has got a leak
The fountain of deep
is seeping upwards to
see what the noise is all about
and we are drowning our own land
in oceans of blood and hate that we spit
like sewage, like oil spills.
If we find one common faith
in this sectarian deluge,
Will the god feel helped or helpless?
What will god do then?
Which god? Whose god?
