Here is land. Go pray on it.
Here is land. But remember;
I do not want to see your crosses,
I do not want to hear your church bells;
Shut the lid on that age old organ,
And turn your trumpets in.
Keep your deities away from me,
Lest my eyes fall upon its evil;
Silence your prayers from this air that is mine,
Lest my ears be tainted by their devotion
Keep away from my sight your statues
In all their colour and splendour,
For your statues are not my statues
And only what’s mine shall exist.
Snuff out your candles,
And pour out the oil,
For only the light in my lamps
Shall flicker for all.
Here is land. I”ll tolerate you here.
But this is my fence.
And cross it you shall not.
Why, brethren, why?
Why do my prayers offend you so?
Do we both not ask for mercy and grace?
Do we both not seek strength for kindness and love?
Do we both not fall on our knees for forgiveness?
Do we both not hold out our hands in thanks?
Why do you anger at the sight of my cross?
Why must I hide the symbols of my faith?
Why do my steeples, my statues, my stupas
and my structures of belief drive you to hatred?
My beliefs needn’t be your beliefs
As yours needn’t be mine.
But is not your God
My God, too?
And is this land not yours
But that of the Lord of all mankind?
9 Sept 2009