Ordinary Person

I moved to the West because

I wanted freedom from

saffron-robed false prophets

and heresy spewing monks,

I no longer wanted to walk

squalid streets littered with

drunk, paunched, corrupt

policemen and starved mongrels,

I no longer wanted to haggle

with auto drivers who looked

at women like they’d never seen

them before,

I no longer wanted the dust from

the construction site coupled with

the stench of the ditch suffocating

me while I sat on the balcony of

my apartment, reading

biased news reports

by Squealeresque jingoists,

but in the land

of hamburgers, capitalism

and unbridled liberty,

I found myself at odds with

free-spirited hedonism, dubious ethics,

bizarre definitions of relationships,

and decided against the culture

and walked into a church.

There, I quickly got roped into

Evangelical Circles,

tongue-speaking

and a very American Gospel.

“God bless this land!” we shouted

as policemen broke necks

and people broke windows.

“The President is doing the

Jericho Walk! Let the trumpets

roar!” we yelled while Xenophobia

like crimson smog coated

our doors, fences and roofs.

“Hallelujah! The Lord’s kingdom

comes!” we screamed,

believing that God chose

conservative Christian Republicans

who held themselves ramrod straight.

They gave me an anglicised name,

chastised me when I quizzed them

on difficult beliefs,

made me vote red,

and honestly, I don’t know who

I am anymore.