The memoirs of people who’ve left this worldly abode.
The inhumanity stored
In fragments of books and in people’s minds.
I look at thee in contemptuous agony,
I see through your soul,
Barren and empty,
Like the desert which was once a lovely seashore.
You have your own labels and antiqued ways,
How naive to think that even heaven is ruled by a king in a golden throne?
That angels in white robes await men who have not sinned
And that Beelzebub’s wrath awaits all those who’ve led a life not prescribed by hypocrital fanatics writing the testament of old and new.
How insane we must be
To imagine the exact same camaraderie
Even after Death comes to take us away
All we ever see is what we want to see.
Picture by Debasmita Chakrabarty