by Neil Chopra
A promise of paradise whispers when I’m on knees,
A threat of inferno cries as soon as I leave;
If I were to scrape them and walk with a limp,
The reminder of pain then frees me of guilt;
But if I was told there’s no peace upon death,
Should my steps then unfold laced with some regret?
Is my purpose ripped, dissipated with faith,
The carrot and stick now both washed away?
Or is solace found in work remaining to do
On this earthly ground: heaven and hell in plain view.
The chorus of voices reading from the same script
Is drowned by the choices of one who won’t quit;
Those opulent steps choreographed to perfection
Cannot top the breath of one brimming with questions;
The chiseled visage that stands donned with gleaming crown
Is dwarfed by the hand of one reaching out;
The path of penance that leads to claim absolution
Is forgiven less than the one who takes blame for intrusions;
The motions of many caught in moments of trance
Bows to one who is steady and leaves naught to chance.
You say what He’ll do as if graced to be His chosen;
I’ll say what She won’t with only reason unbroken:
She cannot be tricked by your foolish distracting,
She cannot be flipped with your bribes everlasting;
She listens when truth emanates in your silence,
No burden of proof must be shared with outsiders;
She exists, I am certain, the evidence overwhelming;
Just behold every person and our logic unbending;
I needn’t comply with decrees that establish your game,
For, in my eyes, He and She are one in the same.