TO THE PAGAN gods

They'll tell you what they can't do,
They'll give you what they don't have-
borrowed jewel from a wretched potter:
Drunk with penury,drown in poverty.
'I'll give you diverse gift',they'll say:
It's better to go on your kneels and pray.
Than to get a token of misery,
bewitched with foggeries and fallacy,
Like a powder blown by the jealous wind-
Who couldn't attract pleasant physiognomy.

They are:

Plate of delicacies embroided with offensive odour,
Arranged to serve the 'seekers'-
Grinding their faith,polluting their conscience.
Ascribed,even set on their table-
Not to feed but to get rid of their freedom.

Graced with deception,they troop after the delicacies,
Over hunger they want to have their seat.
Death then takes them captive-even eternal death.

Pagan gods aren't gods,
Not objects,
Not Moulded,
But crafted,
Even sitted,
In the heart-
That thing that takes more of your attention.
    17:19:17:17:50