The Shaken Faith

Satish Verma

the oil lamps floating 
on the holy river, have 
started bleeding. 

So much blood had spilled 
on the street, after 
slitting the throats of a 
runaway couple. 

This was not my religion. 

Do not steal me from my 
footsteps, wounded by 
the gifts given by you, I 
will not come back. 

I have stopped reading our gods. 

It was the lynching of the savior. 
Let me count the dots and― 
dashes, the unsaid crimes 
of opening the text books.