RELIGION Poem: THE PERFECT GOD, by CHANDU CHANDRAKAR

My son, I have a presentiment that your education
Would somehow be to deny the existence of God
But I could confirm you; at least it is not scientific
To repudiate the existence of that omniscient Lord
We can’t confirm or deny, to say all above board
True scientists can only say, “He is still undiscovered.”
They merit the ignorance, limitations, and Undiscovery
And their faith in incessant yet persistent ingenuity
But they’d ne’er say, “Since we have not found God
For we reject, for certain; mere existence of this sort.”

Pseudoscientists or expositors, ascertain that denial
Core of their business lies in dismissing His survival
Just as pastors or preachers ascertain as mortal-coil
They need people to be blindfolded, ask them to toil;
I, for, cannot confirm or deny the existence, as Goder
But I can certainly tell you what I’d possibly discover.

GOD POSSIBLY is the
Connections withal permutations and combinations
And combined among different shades of the limits
Tenuous connections among point(s) and infinities
Tangible and intangible connections among those
Things and nothingness that can never be defined
Connections among the humanelies and beasties–
Richers and paupers, pain-givers and pain-takers
Connection with all classes; between you, me, and them–
Despite, we ever or never go to temple(s) and proclaim.

It is how people ever or would never find their Gods
You’re no exception, should also not give up giving it shots
Everyone finds his God, least for ones, when even hope is at stakes
The meanings would be different, even the matters, and the shapes
He possibly exists even before gestations or even after deaths;
Just remain steadfast, eternally inquisitive, and persistent in quests.

See! One who sins is a slave of his sins, for he’d feel pride in sinnings
Pride is enigma instilled by God as power to connect all his winnings
Then the values of acknowledging one’s worth exceed all their lim-its
Becoming supercilious and leading to one’s inglorious records in its;
Then He becomes as a faith in ignominy, ruling the masses to His accord
Ignominious as begetter of magnanimity, fall of pride the one can afford;
God possibly is a touch, even eternal, as the smaller than the smallest points
Who survives in everyone as a transient beauty, connecting quiescent joints
No one is perfect, nothing ever could be; all are sinful in some way or other
Even writing this poem, a platitude, could be a sin; given my faith gets ove