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March 30 CROSSEDA night laced by the devil’s moon, The shadow of the traitor, Foolishly betraying itself. A rebel is imprisoned, Behind the bars of power, Sacrosanct Godlessness. Still not a protest, Just a prayer Trembling lips, Seeking forgiveness for those who erred.
They tried him, Tied him, whipped him Till his flesh lay splattered on the stone floor. Still not a whimper, Just a prayer Trembling lips, Seeking forgiveness for those who erred.
Bleeding body, muddy face, They dragged him across the streets, Streets awash with tears, Anointing the bloody sin. Still not a teardrop, Just a prayer Trembling lips, Seeking forgiveness for those who erred.
They crossed him, nailed him, Lest he survive the tortures of Hell. And left him to prove his faith. Bloody earth screaming out to the grey clouds. Still not a cry, Just a prayer Trembling lips, Seeking forgiveness for those who erred.
And then the last breath. The heavens cried, Fiery rain scorching the sky, Burning the sins of mankind, He left to be born again. Just a prayer Still remains, Seeking forgiveness for those who erred.
Had a passionate discussion on Christ with my kids. There lay the pain and the inspiration! Abhimanyu Das Gupta 30th March 2006 March 19 THE LOTUS BLOOMSThe pure white petals, March 18 THE TREE OF VIOLENCEDeep in the heart of humanity ominously rests the seed of violence. Feeding in from the abundant insecurities of the so called progressive world and the steadily flowing streams of hatred, the seed wakes up to shoot out its first bloody stalk. The branches beget mutilated heads and hands, dangling from the devilish tree; sucking out all the water of love and peace from the soil. Pitcherishly surviving on blood and flesh; the more, the higher and broader it grows. Its branches creaking and groaning skywards, almost to boastfully declare to the creator, how futile his creation of man has been. The man that was a gift of love, now hungrily gobbled up by its own stupidity;turned in its own hands into morsels of flesh that hang from the thorny branches of the tree. A pool of blood lies around its roots, nurturing the tree, giving it strength to feed on many more human lives.
Soon there remains a gory painting of merely a desert landscape dotted with heads, limbs, bodies, all lifeless and bloody. The tree ominously and overpoweringly looms over the barren scene , almost reaching out into the sky with a mocking twist of satanic glee. It is bathed in blood and each and every pore is blessedly filled with redness. In a flash it disappears and all that is left on the raped and maroon earth is a couple of seeds. Each seed is crimson and blood baked, like little devil children, baying out for more killing, more hatred and more death. The wind blows in a strong mournful gust and the seeds get scattered far and wide.
Till....... they land inside you and me, where they now lay asleep!!!!
When I saw Hotel Rwanda, this question of "how can man be so violent " haunted me for days and still I donot have an answer. This is just to make us wonder how deceptive our own inner landscape can be. Are we aware that this seed of violence sleeps innocently yet potentially perilously within all of us????
March 06 WAITING...One moment of bliss...
I am waiting...
One truth that is both yours and mine...
I am waiting.
One kiss and loving hands...
Touch me as I have died so many lives...
Waiting.
Lift me from the shackled bed,
Into your heavenly smile...
That is where I want to reside...
No more waiting!!
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