Evil parading in Religion’s guise, Concocted tales and just plain lies, Millions maimed, made to be dead, By vile teachings some folks are fed In the name of this or that ‘holy’ creed, Can one conceive of a more vile deed?   All through history so it’s been done, In Religion’s name false stories spun, Causing misery, and on a vast scale, Awful evil that deluded people hail As some god’s will, or so they claim, The world over, it’s quite the same.   If God exists, as I think H

They are at war, oh how they fight, Driven by hate, with all their might, Wreaking havoc, causing great pain, And at the end, what do they gain?   Negative actions are what they earn, Which must to them one day return. All their madness shall only amount To boosting their heavy sins’ account.   Each has to reap that which they sow: Would this truth they come to know!

Oh many billions You had sent, And back to You they all went. Back to You we, too, shall go, This one truth we must know.   So it’s been happening, on and on, Ever since Your Creation’s dawn, With no pause it occurring thus, You doing as You please with us.   A strange game, this seems to me, What but this can it possibly be? Some sport that with us You play: Sending us, then taking us away!

Is this a thing that You had willed, Which You Yourself got fulfilled: The trauma I was led to undergo, Did You decide this must be so?   Did You decree for it all to be, That this should happen to me: Years of misery and dreadful fear, Did all this You really engineer?   Maybe this You did, or maybe not, But You do know it hurt me a lot, Oh how awful, how intense the pain That I thought might drive me insane!   I know not why I was made to face This madness, this awful disgr

For just a bit of help so small, Ah my Lord, really what all We often have to go through, This all is well known to You.   Oh what all we need to bear, To speak out we don’t dare, Fearing how they may react, And so, we put on a great act, Posing to be what we are not, Ah my Lord, this pains a lot, With them we feel oh so tense As we engage in great pretence, Our real feelings we suppress, As those folks we seek to impress, So that our request they’ll concede And give to us th

Why this world did You create, Where there is so much hate, Pain, strife and gruesome war, And of evil things even more?   Ah! How this we wish we knew, The reason we’d been told by You, So we could discern this mystery dense, The world to us would then make sense.   There must be a reason most good, That we haven’t as yet understood, Why You made Your world this way, Perhaps to us this one day You’ll say, Till then, maybe the best we can do Is accept Your world as willed by

Ah what joy in deep sleep to be, Dead to the world temporarily, Burdens lifted of body and mind, Oh what bliss in this state to find, In a realm beyond earthly plane, Freed from relentless woe and pain, Soaring to heights that have no end, This mundane life to far transcend!   Is this what for some might await When they arrive at death’s gate, Body and mind when they discard, Exiting this world so harsh and hard, Blessed never again there to return: Will this be the joy they’

Is all that comes our way Sent by You, do please say, Meant so that we can grow? Do tell us, I’d love to know.   In that way, we would be clear Why things occur on Earth here, Then alone our hearts can rest, Fully certain it’s all for our best, For, it must be so if all deeds You do, And what comes our way is sent by You.

Is Your world a comedy mere (Though it may not so appear), A strange joke of a giant sort, Your mere fun, just Your sport (Though to us who feel its pain, This may not be clear or plain)?   If this is so, could I ask You The reason why thus You do, For, many who its pain endure May pine for it to be no more? But is their pining Your joke, too? This none else knows, only You!

Do what you must, but not more, Else, your life may become a chore, A burden you feel too heavy to bear, A tiresome, onerous, tedious affair.   Why make your life heavy and tough? Your duty you do, and that is enough. Each their own assigned tasks must do, Doing others’ tasks is just not for you.   Focus on the work that’s in your share, To do any more why should you care? If that you do, life very painful may be, Then don’t complain about it to me!

How foolish we humans can be, Our folly we often refuse to see. In our blindness how we forget, That what we give, that we’ll get.   This Great Law we should know, That we must reap what we sow. If this one truth we’re made aware, Of our deeds we might take better care.

In what manner do we view Each day we get that's new: As a load that’s heavy to bear, Burdensome, with many a care, Or, another chance for us to grow And on a new adventure to go?   About the new day what we tell Makes it turn out poorly or well. How a new day we choose to see Is how it actually turns out to be!

Who reads these lines, are they in vain? What use are they, these words plain? What purpose, if any, do they serve? Do they anyone’s attention deserve? Or, are they just mad ramblings mere, To which no one truly cares to hear, And so, a sheer waste, of just no worth, These words that from the heart take birth. Is it that there’s really no point, nor gain, In this outpouring of the heart’s pain?

There must be a reason why You’ve given to me this ‘I’, This ‘I’ that ‘I’ now can see Is such a big burden for me.   And of ‘me’ itself ‘I’ want no more, Bearing its load is a heavy chore. This ‘I’ and ‘me’ now please take, These, they say, are only just fake.   Then, no more ‘I’ or ‘me’, only You, The truth of things being seen through, And in this way, coming to know That ‘we’ aren’t as ‘we’ think so, That ‘I’ and ‘me’ are fictions mere, And ‘mine’, that’s to ‘us’ so dear,

With acts of kindness, even just a nod, Please fill our each new day, dear God. Much more than this what can we do? For the plain fact is that we aren’t You.   This being so, we can do only so much (We being mere frail mortals as such). We can’t, like You, a vast world create, Nor overturn the whole cosmos’s fate.   Many more things are beyond our ken (After all, we’re just very weak men). But this we can do, with Your grace: Bring a generous smile to our face, Help a bird or

Does our life on Earth—our short stay here, between birth and death (a matter of a mere few decades at the most)—have an objective, pre-given ultimate purpose? Human beings have likely pondered on this question for as long as they have been on Earth, and yet, they have not been able to come even remotely close to a unanimous conclusion so far. Further, there is no sign at all that they ever will. While some people believe that our life here does have such an ultimate purpose,

If a person of somewhat sane mind Were in a madhouse themselves to find, Would they want therein to stay? No! They’d pine to be taken away!   This world as a madhouse I see, That is quite how it seems to me, This sometimes I like to believe, And so, from here I’d like to leave.   But on my own I can’t be so bold, I just can’t leave unless I’m told By the One who has sent me here, In this great madhouse to appear.   It’s He who this madhouse owns, This abode of shrieks and gro

I would be lying if I said I’d rather not be dead. Frankly, if I may say so, I’d be very happy to go. If I were to die right now, With no pain, just somehow, I’d embrace it with great glee, At last from here to be free! But, that said, I know full well, I must stay here until You tell That I must come back to You, When it’s just the right time to. On finishing what I’m here for, There remaining nothing more, You Yourself will take me away, Until then, it’s here I must stay.

This new day how will I spend? What would You recommend? You must tell, for wasn’t it You Who brought me to this day new? And You must grant me all I need To make this day well-spent indeed, Every moment used in manner such That together they'd count for much, So that, on the whole, this new day I will spend in the best possible way!

Is this Your drama, or is it not? Come on, tell me what is what, All these actions that get done: Is it just Your way of having fun, Some sport in which You engage On this enormous cosmic stage, With You doing all that may occur: Is this what we should infer?   Now hurry up and please tell me: All around all the deeds we see, And far beyond, elsewhere, too, Is all this being done just by You, For a reason that we don’t know, Tell me, Dear, is this really so? Is it truly, as s