The myths seem to be real, <br />In every threshold with a symbol, <br />We gather and chant for a while, <br />And to disperse to arrive through the path, <br />Dressed; pretension to evident, <br />Books scribbled with ancient thoughts, <br />The knees and soles are thickened, <br />The corns are visible, yet to be scrapped, <br />The modern minds are still clouded, <br />The hysteric noises are spread, <br />The enactment of events are repeated, <br />Another soul soother has to be invented, <br />When I knelt beside the nuns at the chapel, <br />Observing their twisting of the holy beads, <br />When I stood beside the great sages, <br />Repeating the verses from the holy pages, <br />When we congregated in the morning, <br />Listening to the verses, sung in Arabic, <br />We are clearly divided in our thoughts, <br />Having the supremacy in every one’s mind, <br />Never to be united in another thousand years, <br />A miracle may occur to call us all as peers. <br />We may join our hands to appreciate the creation, <br />Treat one another as equal with no deviation.<br /><br />veeraiyah subbulakshmi<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/we-are-the-creators/
