BRUTAL WALLS

Behold around thru' the bustling streets,
Honking cars and phoney greets,
All for swanking fake delight,
As the moon flaunts white sunlight.

There behold; a man walks gay,
Clad in ivory; perhaps to pray.
The mosque stands Godly; tall and wide,
For each a man to pray inside.

To send their offerings to the Lord,
Enwrapp'd in a cloud of vagarious words;
Of anguish, joy and sweet desires,
And flames too; at times of scornful fires.

They're all crimson deep inside,
There's one recluse and just one guide.
They bleed not blue on earthen chest,
Lash not 'em with stern behest.

Miles a few and behold again,
A hermit walks 'neath doughy rain.
Saffron attire and a thread dull white,
Chanting scriptures in broad daylight.

He's scurrying in haste to pray the same,
To send his offerings in His name.
Quiet and tranquil prays he hours,
With incense sticks and a basket flowers.

Divine grace shall be bestowed, ...