Between the tears, falls the non-vision.
I am scared, let go off my silence and restore the infidel wall,
speaking to faithful bullet to aim nothing.
We are still not protected in the domed confidence of a million years.
Ahead of time, the tryst with goodness
becomes a window opening into a garden of startling truths.
An immaculate response of speechless creation gives back a new twist to faith,
and Gods have gone into hiding.
In granite temple, the doors are missing.
Leaves fall from tall faith, unstruck in the air, become fossils.