How do we know where we should go?: A poem 

You know the rains keep coming! 

Do they bring us relief? 

Do they wash off all the dark prevalent? 

Or leave our cities feeling like musty ghettos? 

And our homes like gutters we should only squirm in? 

Do we feel the filth even after becoming squeaky clean? 

And even when the season changes, 

we are left with fork-tongues leaders, 

who wouldn’t put their veracity and honesty to use? 

So, every day, we move further into a precipice 

with the lies floating in, no, in fact, slapping our faces 

walking like filmy ghosts through the walls of our homes 

stalking like poltergeists through our televisions

and every mass media that we consider as our heartfelt profundities! 

We are just like this, believing in a treachery 

conceiving our fodder in the undisputed billboards 

and our children in a gubernatorial fake education 

So, even the future be consigned farther from the truth 

And the descent is an illusion of ascent 

like all that hell we were led to fear, and was called evil by the lie 

of an institutionalised religion that acclaimed  

a heaven, that is actually replete with the unseen fact 

of bodygrabbing, and destroying the culture of the true God; 

Was God ever a denizen of your Church’s heaven? 

Far from it! When will the truth arrive? That Saint John’s  

Revelation is not the reality that we should shudder at! 

But we should, in fact, repulse at our current chock-a-block of beliefs 

Should we then actually transgress our own red lines? 

So, that we do not inhabit the inhibitions any more! 

But break loose into a farther future than the nearest one 

Or find ourselves footloose into the past rather than the present!