There is an old folk Islamic saying,
That when men lie together God’s throne is shaken.
But my God does not rule from a throne,
Nor does he preoccupy himself with porn.
He sent his son, his incarnation in flesh,
Who sacrificed his life and loved beyond death.
So here I find my heart can belong, but every thing they say I’m doing is wrong.
Why is it that I must not greed, when there is my pope in God’s throne, it seems?
So I braid my hair and carry my Tora around,
For the hero slayed the Pharoah, and promised the land found.
I travel there to find some inner peace, and all I find are walls covered in red grief.
What is this God? It surely is not mine,
Can the animal we slaughter truly be divine?
Or is it the man forever laughing in his seat,
Delivering a message too cryptic for me to reach?
Surely he exists, it cannot be.
What is it then in the stars staring at me?
What is the joy in my lover’s embrace, why do I feel I am not of this place?
I searched for meaning and yet again I find, the most contented of people are those who are blind.
So I close my eyes, one final attempt to see,
In the movie of my mind a silence begins to be.
I hold on to its tail and plunge longingly, to lose the world whole-heartedly.
There I arrive. I am finally home.
I am ether and love. Not person and bone.
I am the freedom of lifetimes chasing the God of my dreams, and all this time he was leading me to me.
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