Whispers
My bones speak to me
In the middle of the night
When the whisper of nothingness surrounds me.
They say,
'All is an illusion.'
We
Who have formed from particles born a millinea before you
Know.
We
Who have been part of the universe
Have carried this knowledge with us and it speaks to you
It does not matter if you worship idols or
A god you can not see
God
Is a man made creation
Whether formed from clay
Or
Of the imagination.
He is a machine made to serve man's purpose
Where woman is trampled underfoot
Like
Day old garbage
Lying in the street.
The Creator
Never intended for his voice to get lost
But
How can you hear the whisper of truth
When
Surrounded by blaring traffic and noise.
The Creator
Put the voice inside every creation
The voice that laughs at man made religion
And knows
Religion is a figment of the imagination.
A man made monster
Always needing more blood
More sacrifice.
How have we really changed
From our Aztec, Egyption, Greek
ancestry?
Where
Sacrifices of blood were offered
To appease the thirst of angry gods?
The Creator
Does not need your man made God or religion.
Sit still and listen
To the voice whispering the truth inside you.
Softer that silence
Darker than mahagony
Shinier than the stars in the sky.
Stark and naked it stands
Obvious
To our
Oblivious eyes.
poem by Rabia Minhas
Added by Poetry Lover
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