I’m sick of You. Your magnificence
precipitates mental pain, ethical

cramps. That You continue to shine
blinds, asphyxiates, twists the sinews

of my words. How dare You bewitch
in an aeon like this? 14 year-old

Iraqi girl kidnapped, raped, burnt alive
by American servicemen; Palestinian

toddler’s head pulped by the shrapnel
of Israeli bombs; sleepy Israeli civilian

shattered by rubble while drinking tea; not
to forget the forgotten diseased, starved

billions expiring in the squalid ghettos
of ‘globalisation’. Could You possibly

justify the garish brilliance of your
intractable, effervescent spring

as rivers shrivel and soil turns saline
due to pitiless ‘progress’? Or the candle

of compassion in this starless night
of cyclic hatred? I honestly can’t help

my revulsion at Your volition to remain
prodigious, enchanting, Beloved. So what

if You discharge life, if my life is nothing
but a valley along the trajectory of return

to You? You flaunt the ecstasies of Union
and transcendence when reality demands

outrage and obduracy. Why won’t You
let me loathe my fellow creatures instead

of being mesmerised by Your allure? It turns
my stomach, aches my intellect, since I hope

and even occasionally smile, sleep and dream
in spite of the calamities, because of You.