There is a girl, and she doesn't believe in the existence of god.

She once told her best-friend that if there is something like BIRTH and DEATH, then there can't be anything like heaven and hell. However, she uses both HEAVEN and HELL as metaphors in her poems for pointing at the good and the bad while
wondering what distinguishes a devil from an angel.

Once someone asked her- “Do you believe in the power of DESTINY?”.
She didn't answer the question and ended up writing a whole essay on the value of HARD WORK while reflecting upon the lives of many who are working hard since ages without any fruition.

One day her grandfather told her that she should have at least some amount of FAITH in her life, even if she doesn't BELIEVE in worshiping any sculptures or images. She told him that the only thing she believes in is his selfless love for her.

She has a closet,
and it's full of secrets and MYSTERIES,
the secret letters of pain and grief, of existential crisis and restless nights.
They were written to someone named as GOD by her ten-year-old self.

Every night she joins her hands and closes her eyes to make a wish and PRAY for the well-being of
the boy who claims to be in love with her.
And every morning when I wake up to look at her face in the mirror, all I could see in front of my eyes is a portrait of an ATHEIST in love.

-Prachi

Purity

Clear water without a hint of discoloring
Free from anything however small floating inside
What is the purity of your kindness
Can goodness be tainted?
Although the outcome is wholesome
Do motivations lessen the good of goodness?

Selfish "Good"

How good is goodness
If goodness is conditional?
If all the good I ever do
Is to get something back
If I neglect those with nothing to offer
And bargain with those who'll do anything for help?
A desperate cry to my ears sounds the same
As coins clinking while they form a pile
As the shuffling of bills
With every "good" deed
My heart races as the weight of debts owed to me grows

Obligatory Goodness

When the pure water of a good act
Is used to put out eternal fire
Done not because I love you
But to appease my angry master
Under threat of hell, how can my motivation remain pure?
If good people is what the master wants
Why even muddy the waters with goodness under threat?
Unless it's not about good people
But about having people that can be controlled
Monopolizing on man's fear of the unknown
To create slaves that will shackle themselves
For the illusion of safety
And to be free of the burden of thinking

The Good Face

How good are good acts
Done merely to preserve an image?
To stay in people's good favors?
To be praised for your selflessness?
Like the good that asks for something in return
And the one that comes from fear
If being good was not rewarded
Would you still seek it out?
You can't help if people praise you
For doing what anyone should
But you can help if that's what drives you
If you save all your goodness for the spotlight

For Goodness Sake

I saw you hurting
Your face was not that of a stranger's
Because although I've never met you
I know you.
You're me, if all our circumstances switched
I'm just as human as you
There are no main characters here
It only feels that way because ours are the only thoughts we hear
But you're no different than me.
We're all only people
But I have the ability to help
And so I will.
I don't need to be seen
I don't need you to repay me
I'm not afraid of any religion's hells
I just have compassion for you, fellow human.
Unconditional love is the heart of pure goodness
The heart of goodness for goodness sake.

Preface
Life is bookended by nothing.
Grasp what nothing truly means.
Nothing is not another form of something.
Nothing is — nothing.



Where were you long ago?
All that time before a tot.
In some distant god’s château?
No. Not there. You were not.

Perhaps a soul in surplus stock,
A spirit not yet wrought.
Dressed in some heaven’s frock.
No. Not there. You were not.

Then came a twist of fate,
***** and egg were now one.
In this way did they create.
Your life had begun.

So began your book of life,
That in volumes three.
The past, the present,
and the yet to be.

Life is always in the now,
Presents itself as a choice.
Many matters to disavow,
To others, you give a voice.


Life is more than career,
Love is much more dear.
To love another earns its worth,
Makes your mark upon the Earth.

Take the time to stand and stare,
Feel the sun burst in the air.
Enjoy laughs and romance,
Work at love, at every chance.

And when the last word is writ,
There is no more, yet to be.
Life for you did quit,
Not something faced with glee.

At the end, where do you go?
To the place you were taught?
To some distant god’s château?
No. Not there. You are not.

Your Book of Life, a mere spark,
‘Twixt bookends of eternal dark.


This poem is also on Vimeo
Runs 3:39
https://vimeo.com/432650832

Shushed until now
Respecter of no status
Not even the blue bloods
Even men of timber and caliber shivers
Ha! Uncle Sam trembles at thy blow

What a time for the atheist
To raise both hands skyward
A time to trust the unknown
In the hands of the one
Made known by nature

Lean Harvests
by Michael R. Burch

for T.M.

the trees are shedding their leaves again:
another summer is over.
the Christians are praising their Maker again,
but not the disconsolate plover:
     i hear him berate
     the fate
     of his mate;
he claims God is no body’s lover.

Published by The Rotary Dial and Angle. Keywords/Tags: plover, skeptic, atheist, agnostic, Christians, god, creator, maker, fate, mate, berate, lover

She forced me to pray for a god
that never answered my prayers

When I told her that I wish to die,
she told me to recite Al-Ikhlāṣ

In her own eyes,
I was a sinner who didn’t worship
the same imaginary friend as hers

An imaginary friend that let her
steal my innocence instead of saving me
from her cruel hands and piercing eyes

How can I worship a god that
didn’t listen to my desperate cries
when I was abused,
abandoned, and bruised