Why I don’t goto Church anymore

church

My parents didn’t give me a Christian name
As if they knew I would leave my faith one day
– A faith that abandoned me completely –
I was meant to be the infidel, the pagan.
My life was not about a pseudo-faith. Like sinners
Flocking like birds to exalt the god of an aviary
Where birdseed is given bathed in ruby-red birdwater
And the birds make chat after mass
Wearing the most colorful of plumage.

Sin, was the binding glue. The mortar of flesh bricks.
Sin was as much about absolution and not about sinning again.
It was a commodity with a shelf life. I was not going to be part
Of that. I hated sin, the idea of sin. Sin was like ploughing
The earth to plant some weeds. And God it seems
Pours weedicide inside the confessional.
And I will not part of a church that venerates sinners
And throws our good men and women. I will not be part
Of robed chieftains, who teach sin is a primal need, a vocation.

I used to love the church. Like it made me feel belonged
And kept an eye for a lass who hadn’t strayed. A unicorness
With beautiful hair, only I, the virgin could embrace.
She never came by. It was like fornication that united
Every youth at church and not righteousness.
I could feel my outsider’s skin, my outlandishness to
Everything the church stood for.

Now I’m with a perennial aethist. A woman who believes
In equal rights for animals and gays. An angel of outer beauty
And inner peace. It seems the best thing about love was, it took
Me away of the church. It took me away from flocked birds
Chirping away script without meaning. Love it seems was my absolution
For my brainwashed idolatry of Catholicism.

And I now walk through life knowing
I’m not after birdfeed. The manna was in me.
God will stand by me in thickness and thin.
Just like the woman who bathes, not just my feet,
But my whole body, with a flow of love.
And love is much bigger than a fishermen’s institution
Or a fishermens’s code, or the catch
Love is the religion of two hearts, bonded in the sacred
Ritual of unconditionality. Rituals are not just mainstays.
They are the foundations of far bigger things.

It seems our love is holier than the church.

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Published by

meandererworld (Dilantha Gunawardana)

Dr Dilantha Gunawardana is a molecular biologist, who graduated from the University of Melbourne. He moonlights as a poet. Dilantha wrote his first poem at the ripe age of 32 and now has more than 1700 poems on his blog. His poems have been accepted/published in Forage, Kitaab, Eastlit, American Journal of Poetry and Ravens Perch, among others. He was also awarded the prize for "The emerging writer of the year - 2016" in the Godage National Literary Awards, Sri Lanka for his first collection of poems (Kite Dreams – A Sarasavi Publication), while being shortlisted for the poetry prize. Dilantha is a dual citizen of Sri Lanka and Australia, and shares his experiences from two different cultures. He blogs at - https://meandererworld. wordpress.com/

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