Excuse Me, Sir

banksy

 

Excuse me, Sir

But what is the procedure

To peel off religion from my skin?

 

I find no trademarks, no barcodes.

I find no brands, no logos on me,

No palpable evidence of my faith.

 

Birthrights are strange,

For no mother would aspire to leave a tangible mark

Yet, you perceive an invisible permanent tattoo

As if it also traverses the placenta.

 

Sir, could you tell me

Which God created mountains and plains,

Which God designed cells and space,

Which God knew all the arts in the world,

And the skills to be the mightiest,

And if it’s not Zeus, Jesus or Allah,

If it’s not Krishna or Buddha,

We have a shy God, Sir.

 

Sir, even if it is one of them

If by any chance, God was One if not all,

It’s tyranny to command faith due to power

To ensure worship, in spite of his absence,

To instill fear, in spite of good grace,

It’s narcissistic to allow temples and tributes-

I’m not sure I want a tyrant for a God.

 

You seem to know him well, Sir

You seem to worship him and believe,

He has not told me Sir, but I’m sure you’d know

How do I peel off religion from my skin?

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