There is no harm, in times of darkness, to use god.
Light, love, is seized time and again, else we lose god.
The devil measured every pain he could draw from our bodies;
straightened his back, and asked: Now, who’s god?
He stood at your door—you averted your eyes.
O dying mother, with whom did you confuse god?
On certain nights she screams curses at Krishna.
There are times, O despair, when we cannot choose god.
You blew on the first morsel, then offered each idol. Now
your unfaithful tongue burns each time you abuse god.
Best to let the past remain in the past—she
weighs the beads of her rosary to seduce god.
Take me into your arms, O omniscient one!
With endless prayers all night, unafraid she cues god.
The world is full of binaries. God is singular.
Who divides better than morning news? God.
On each of our arms, the black moment we are born,
the words suffering, sorrow, and death tattoos god.
As a child I was told there’s one answer to all:
chaos, caste, guilt, grief, grace, a bruise—god.
At the end, we forget more than we remember.
It counts we are blessed—who cares by whose god?
My mother sits by the moon, sister a candle—
I know I am not alone who interviews god.
His crimes forgiven for centuries, enough now!
We’ll execute—fetch the hangman, bring a noose—god.
Your name is her offering, Karan. The day she dies
you will lose your name, and you will lose god.