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Born in the mud of disfigured faith,

Nourished with superstitious fear and lies,

They were foredoomed to be a humble herd,

Which plods towards luring light of ancient rites.

From birth and till death they spend lives in

Pathetic dressing which they as virtue take,

In simulacrum of imaginary holiness

Covering with pathos of the ritual their futility.

Fastened with dogmas remains of their faith

The blinds lead the blinds, crawling up on their knees.

Abrading them to bones, with no hope to achieve

The light they can’t see in their proud insanity.

Prudes in golden clothes look haughtily at their herd,

Which hark reverently with open mouths,

And feed them holy-smelling backward rusk

They had received as spiritual inheritance.

Father, when did you wash your disciples’ feet last time?

Isn't pride and madness all you’ll leave behind?

Liars and liars’ brood, now pay your bitter price

For which your fathers disallowed before

And which you are still raping now

Do eat up the manna that has become the worms,

Maybe one view on your corpses after the years

Make you see the decay you were sometime deify!