“Naked and like a raisin, a wrinkled knob of our imagining…” a poem on God by Mitra Visveswaran

Photo of Religious Figures in Mexico from Gunda-Werner-Institut
Photo of Religious Figures in Mexico from Gunda-Werner-Institut

My friends and I make fun of god
He is a shrivelled up prune by our doorways
Naked and like a raisin
A wrinkled knob of our imagining

It is a child-like cruelty that has us do so
God god god
Now a poor old sod
Look at this little shrimp

Sad and out-of-water
Man-made god
While woman sat and watched
And blinked

Now we defile him
With laughter and mere words
How easily
How dizzily

Drunk on this easy power
Pious schoolgirls come running at us with razor sharp teeth
Eyes popping from their sockets
An ungodly sight, really

We tell them woman-girls, look
You didn’t make this man
Man made this man
Don’t love a sod that pretends to be god and

Has echoed through man-ears

Burrowing through your canals and coming out of
Follicles as moustache-hairs.
Man made god in his image

And man made woman his little bitch
And said ‘god said’
And woman echoed ‘god said’
Woman, god is dead.

He’s dead, look, look at him
Soft wool skin
Falling in pools,
Croaking out his last breath.
He is not your god.

Praise him, so he may sleep well.
Close his wry eyes gently, with your cool finger-tip
Woman, be a soft blue fire
Warm this child to sleep.
Birth a new one.

MITRA 27 4

Mitra Visveswaran

Mitra is a 23-year-old poet from Chennai, India. She is also a student of psychology, lives by the sea, and likes to write about relationships, emotions, desire, and the body. She also identifies as a cat sometimes.


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