Poem 3

I recall,
like the sweetheart
after she jilted,
the holy chant,
with the announcement
of the Holy month of fasting.
I have misplaced
the memories of the Holy
fasts I kept, like
the dreams of Aurangzeb.
the desolate Faquir recites
the Holy prayer,
like reading a detested verse.
I announce my religiosity
by reciting the Holy prayer
with the dryness of Bhishma's
mindscape.
It is necessary, you know,
to move your lips
with the hymns
as the bells keep ringing.
Like the stooping religiosity
of King Lear's abominable
daughters.
Shouldn't there be riots
between the believers
and the non-believers?
No, but you are a Hindu.
How come?
And I am a Muslim.
How come?
Both are untouchables?
No?
How come?