Writing

God is Dead

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The bitter east wind
Carried me to the lost land
Where gods go to die.

I saw Zeus stagger ashore
His scraggly grey beard
Reeking of wine
The coils of his hair
Seemed to have been combed
By a thunderstorm
I saw contempt flash in his eyes
Like lightning
The pain of being forgotten
He fell to his knees
Returning to the Earth
Which like all mothers
Finally forgave.

On this new home of mine
Secrets unfolded
Revealing themselves
Like blooming flowers

Icarus tumbled from the sky
Unto this forsaken land
A god in his own right.
The burning ambition
Faded from his bones
And his great golden wings
Melted into puddles
That ran into
Rivers of gold.
As the gold
met the azure
I learnt that
All that rises must
Fall.

To whom the world giveth much
The world taketh much away

Shiva lay on the golden
The blue of his throat
Matching the sea
The waves reached out
Over and over
Touching his feet
As if to say goodbye
The destroyer vanquished.
His third eye lay open
But unseeing.


Death is ugly
Even for the gods.

I woke up to see
Jesus and Mohammed
Two brothers
Seated before a fire
Talking about whether
Emotion is emotion
Without expression
And how Prophets and
Messiahs
Messengers of God
Metamorphose
Into gods themselves.


How humanity
Raises mere mortals to
The holy pedestal
Fashioning objects
Of their worship
Creating their own gods.

But eventually
All gods come to die.
Their legends and lives
Turning into metaphors.

By Parth Lakhani

About Parth:
Parth Lakhani is a 17-year-old poet from the vibrant city of Gurgaon, India. He enjoys the banter and freewheeling conversation with no beginning, middle or end. Can be usually found curled beside windows with a Murakami or listening to the jazz and the blues. 

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Featured image by NASA

 

 

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