The Untitled

In the garden of thine impotence, O redeemer

Flow those flowers of evil, callous

The nectar of them, bloody wine of misanthropia

Rivers of dogmatic poison in thine veins.

Thine church of Sixtus, glorious temple of Satan

Radiantly glowing in its deception,

Thine son, my father celibate

Inebriated by the cannabis of indulgence.

O, are we then your sheep unguided,

Left desolate to find our own, while

You shine upon thine Cross so high,

We look at thee, O savior of none

Through a glass darkly

Death, that profound philosopher, is my redemption

For in life, you were to be mine

Come, my glories shall, when you judge

For I have already judged

And you, my lord, are condemned to fiction.

-Anjaney Das
28.03.09