I remember sitting on the floor cross-legged,
Looking up to an idol made of stone.
My eyes shut, lips pursed in devotion,
My voice quivered with hymns and lyrics divine.
The tales of Gods so mighty and bold,
Tales that elders recited so convincingly.
For I, a mere boy of six, sat by their knee in awe,
Hanging on to each word of amazing bravado and mystique.
For years on end I knew not of a world,
A world devoid of Gods and angels.
For years on end I believed the world to be one,
One with God and his all-conquering divinity.
Skepticism I could not understand,
I shunned those who sought to think otherwise.
I never did think of just one God,
But of a world where Gods doth exist.
As years passed on, my mind turned restless,
For answers through God now seldom convinced me.
In place of answers I heard metaphors,
In mistakes of the world, I heard excuses.
In times of troubles, where I saw and heard of suffering,
I heard them say, “God works in mysterious ways.”
As men, women and children alike blew up in flames,
“God made them for a reason”, I heard them say.
No tangible being thus I’d seen,
Seemed so convincing or bold.
In showers of milk and gold lathered are these piles of stones,
While a child sleeps in hunger just outside the door.
I see men swarm these places, in search for absolution,
While leaving the world in tatters to serve a selfish need.
I would not say I am selfless or above these men,
But I’d rather not put my faith in figments of a dream.
In deep turmoil, I found no answers in faith,
In times of doubts and questions, they did silence me.
In prayers I found no meaning nor reason,
For in praying I’d become a victim of rote.
For a mind so curious does feel confined,
Thus I lost my religion,
For now eyes had opened,
And innocence had died.