The Death of Gods

Even the mightiest of the Gods die,

Oh yes, they do.

It is shocking isn’t it?

After all the hullabaloo!

Ask the ancient Greeks, Romans, Indians, they will tell you,

Each civilization begets a God new.

Then come the misdirected religious bigots that fill people with such rage,

That they label everything as good and bad and put every wonder in a cage.

The world moves on; all the dogmas vanish, crumble and disappear after the end of an age.

Nothing remains forever, yet people fight for momentary righteousness,

 Hurting and killing and creating this mad mess.

Only love remains in the end, in this never-ending time and space,

And it is love that creates a new era and a new race.

But as the new race grows, they somehow want their new god to reign supreme,

To supress and subjugate, the elusive power remains every civilization’s eternal dream.

You think at least now they would have realized looking at the thousands of years of history,

That no one will win in this pointless struggle, but they keep playing the same old story.

So short and so wispy is human life,

Yet we spend it in constant, painful strife.

The real Gods, if they really are there,

Must be trying to say a prayer,

To restore our sanity,

Or may be just looking us in deep remorse and pity.


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