//And if you ask me what a prayer is,
It is gentle stroke of a knife on one's arm.
It is the feeling of pushing your finger against your eyes.//

If prayers are liquid anger feeding protests of a zero polished mind, then don't forget that the god is laughing at us , his pigmented elbows steady in round table. He had borrowed his hands from a girl who was stretching in her balcony on a fine Sunday morning. She was actually mumbling a happy birthday to herself when he challenged the wind to be mischievous enough to push her to the ground. And the wind did it actually: the people pleaser who thinks himself as the cool,bad guy. The hands were, then  smooth and soft, without an extra lump of fat. But the creator's lazyife style now made it match his torso. But if you look closely, really closely, you can see the border where two skin colours meet.
If prayers are glossy poems on the thin layer of an oil paper, then remember the god is an art critic, offering his loap sided smile even when he studies Mona Lisa. He actually stole the smile from the dictator who gift wrapped expired  bread dough along with jasmine perfume he got for free, and gifted it to a orphanage. The smile was this evil till then too. May be God identified himself in him, he didn't bother to change it. But if you look closely, really closely, you can see how small the teeths of god are since he is not carnivores.
If prayers are phenyl  to cleanse a sinner's mind, remember that the god can actually make you drink it, giving you to the silliest idea that you are a hole of filth in need of a thorough wash. The god actually didn't had  to study this technique, because even from the moment he was born, he was good at gas lighting. 
If prayers are survival kits, then God is a hold stroke acting like a fish Gill only to teach you that drowning is an art, and there is nothing to afraid of it. He is the photographer who has infinite films in his camera, and since he doesn't blink he doesn't miss the complex ripples  and the terrific beauty of water droplets on root out hair, struggling to be absorbed into next rain cycle. 
If prayers are glasses of fruit juice to quench thirst of a dark summer day, then don't forget the god is a cotton saree stained of it, while weaving the same fate to a woman, asking to be a chorus, in the main play. The attire is inherited by every daughter, who are not supposed to refuse it because their  clipped tongues are their marks in the birth certificates. The only difference is that God is not called as a paradoxical whore in the middle of road and in unread dms.
If prayers are candles  and flowers offered, then God is a corrupt officer with crooked mind even inside the cavities of his  elite mouth, where the imported apples of himachal are crushed, while Eve is banished for having one for her lunch after missing three days without meals.
Hypocrisy is what he excels in, so don't be surprised, when you see him in grant make up while he calls you an attention seeker for your blue eyelashes . 
If prayers are emergency calls to save the life of your lover, then when you see God offering you cello tapes instead of bandages in the operation theatre, you should be thankful for the kindness and cry out of devotion and adoration in his feet, while he will be busy colouring the peacock cheeks of blurry evenings for the emperor who seeks a break between his meetings on a nuclear war.
So, 
Be grateful and drench yourself in life,
even if it feels like a petrol.


//Tell me now,
How can I forgive god?
Why should I forgive God?//

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