It is my family God, made
of stone,
Standing aloof away from
my village.
What cult He belongs to,
none of us knows.
He is not the one who has
made the world.
Generation after
generation,
We worship and propitiate
to him,
A warrior to ward off
evils,
To fulfill boons and meet
our curses.
Other gods we would change
from time to time
And space to space
according to fashion
But not He whom we more
fear than love.
He is in our gene, no
matter where we live.
In spite of tragedy we
encounter,
Suffering and sorrow we
undergo,
Still we believe in His
efficacy,
And do tonsuring to each
child born.
Only philosophy we know of
Him
Is we should forget Him on
no account
Lest we invite His wrath
and cost our lives.
He is the one by whom we
swear no lies.
11.09.2015.
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