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A poem on the irony of dogmatism, rituals, and beliefs. It speaks about how the complexities of traditions conflict with our embedded thoughts on how we must live.


Submitted:Aug 16, 2007    Reads: 185    Comments: 1    Likes: 0   


New Age

the old monks would prefer

the old books,

dying manuscripts buried

with dance and rituals,

than looking at the things

that start and end with sex ---

renewal of vow with the original sin.





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