Of swirling smoke in dimly lighted rooms;
And vomit strewn by nameless faces bare;
A choking sound of babies all festooned;
The eyes of Shiva’s wrath from hell did glare.

He cried, “forsake me not!” the derelict
And damned, with crooked fingers, tawny hands;
Humanum Pati Est did world afflict
The virtue and the viciousness of man.

Golgotha’s reign a violent fount of blood;
A crucifix, where man and God abide;
A synthesis, of evil and of love;
The suffering of heav’n and hell collide.
    Yet still you feel so hopeless and alone?
    For where can one just find direction home?