These earthen fingers
I’ll never be allowed to enter the gates.
Saint Peter will ask for my ID.
If the photo bears any resemblance, I’ll be turned away.
There’s no one sitting at the feet of Jesus.
The Father is the house of many mansions.
Jesus is the only One home.
Reaching the human stage, I can rise no higher.
Earth was built for humans.
Shed my sanskaras? I am my sanskaras.
Working frantically for the balloon to rise,
I find myself a bag of sand, no way
for these earthen fingers to unknot the rope.
O child of God, you must become a child,
one who has not yet been given a name.