You are an atheist.
And God is old man 
clutching a medicine bottle.
Am a polythene bag 
he failed to take note of.
God forgot to mention that 
I was a ceramic plate in the past life, 
just like he forgot to clean hunger from streets named after flowers.
So I became house of my father's silence.
He forgot to perform a miracle , and
so an artist found drowning therapeutic.
And so a mother decided to 
turn into a bread in hands of a stranger.
And so a little throat was silenced.
And so a lover became a footnote 
and another a memoir.
That is why prayers
should be like 
knives peeling oranges,
or the hand of a serial killer,
or holes of a gun
or pain of a barren womb
or smile of a wounded bird
or plundering of a holy city 
or a poisoned love potion,
or a mad woman in dark,
so that angels can't 
dump the trauma 
casually over ice creams.

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