Touch-screen

rtx1gzco

He kills,

While we are touching everything else,
Touch-screens everywhere,

Apparently God kills,

In Catholic Garb,
Violet,

In Coptic yellow, in
Jewish robes,

God kills surreptitiously,

At sunset,
On bridges, through

Garrulous Muslims,

It is a mistake to believe that the only touch-screen around,
Is email.

God is a touch-screen.

We do not remember friends, we
Remember enemies,

We do not remember being appreciated, we
Remember being insulted.

Our thoughts on the environment create the environment and our thought,
Is momentarily polluted.

We want intelligent whales and emotional elephants yet we kill in God’s name, we

Poison one another and blame it on God, where
God is not the problem, we

Instead believe the sycophant –

Touch,
Screen.

 

♦picture♦ Brian Snyder, Reuters

-evocative short poetry-

 

 

 

 

Puja

wpid-puja1.jpg

And suddenly there is life;

Cross legged,
Bug eyed,
Oiled and massaged in the temple,

Groomed by a priest in,
Orange robes and,
Fat, fat

Ghee smeared on painted plywood,
Cheeks,

Frantic efforts to recall the past-times of,
Gods,
Frolicking on Earth,

Right next to the toilet,
Near the paddocks,
In this life.

Planes punch through the,
Sky at the nearby airport,

More planes than it seems,
India has a right to;

And the man across from me,
Is fingering a grain of rice in his pocket,

Sweetened at the alter by the,
Guru’s tears,

and
smuggled through the airport check,

just so he can swallow it now,
as his flight number is called.

Photo – LotusSculpture

-evocative short poetry-