Life, Poems, Poetry


ink spilled
over papers or parchments
by the devoted disciples,
to govern for the unseen holy authority
never imagined that their devotion,
would be so misunderstood
that the rivers would be full of blood,
crusade would be full of cries of children
and a symbol or a petty face
would conjure fears
in generations to come

when a smile can’t guide to us love
but a scripture can guide us,
to hate that is when you know
that the world is doomed not due to lack of love
but due to ignorance of it.


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