The preachers preach this. The believers believe this.

There is life after death.

There is another world after this world.

So they say. The preachers and the believers.

I do not believe in life after death.

I do not see any reason in believibg that there is another world after this world. Yes, there is reason in believing that there is no heaven and there is no hell either. What is this heaven or hell as such?

Heaven and hell are situated in the realm of your blind faith which is nothing but a superstitious idea. The existence of superstitious belief is only in the chimera of your mind.

What we cannot see in our naked eyes is absolutely non-existent. But if you say that we cannot see air in our naked eyes but we know for sure that air exists. Yes, air exists. We can feel it, we can sense it.

But we cannot feel or sense the existence of heaven or hell. What you cannot see cannot be believed. Believing is a conviction. Conviction is some pragmatic notion about the human world and the nature which we see under our eyes, feel, sense perceptibly and we are led to believe. That belief is our conviction.

After death, neither we get a new shelter in heaven nor we are burnt in the catastrophe of hell. After death, we are simply reduced to dust of nature. Our physical entity or our biological body is simply decomposed into nature.

We are born out of nature and we die into nature. So to speak, we come from nature and go back to the nature in the end. Our birth and death are a natural process. But it is not natural that we would be reborn some day after our death. Rebirth is not natural as our decomposed body after death can never be composed into another biological body.

Life after death is next to impossible. If it so happens, then all our scientific knowledge would be reduced to nothingness. Those who are deficient in scientific knowledge and scientific temper only believe in that impossibility and rarity. That impossibility and rarity is the scientific knowledge of our biological life.

There is life in this world but there is no life in the other world.

The other world is non-existent. No believer or for that matter no preacher can prove this empirically and emphatically as it is not a thing to be proved empirically and emphatically.

Does God exist?

No, there is no chance of his/her rehabilitation in the non-believer’s world.

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Maiming the Killed
And kiling the killed one
In shrewd silence of darkness
For how long the fatwa of Allah
Will be given the elusive chance
To better the lie of truth?

Thicker blood suits all those
Carrying the charred bones and skulls
Of the poor souls grinding the teeth of hunger
For how long the shining dagger will take time
To get blunted and rusted in unsustainable peace
For how long the darkness will cloud the peace of mind?

The street fighters long gloomy days
Not chosen to firewall the dooms day on the corrodor
Of asphalt black idols bearing the blueblood of violence
For how long the laughing Buddha salvaging the pride
In sheer epitapph of evening moonshine
For how long the gibberish talk will be frolicking in slimy saliva?

Where is God who says to be good
Where is Allah who professes fatwas after fatwas
To churn out the ambrosia in the milkyway
Will it be as long as the days groping in darkness of night
Of phenomenal delights of fundamentalism of unjust war
Scaring away the hopes and despair of the wretched of the earth?

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If he dies, if he ever dies
At all unto the breathless darkness
The one and only one chosen and beloved
By the God‘s last will, God’s own testament
He is born unto His long days and nights
He weaves his own way into the rise of dawn
Ethereally setting upon the drops of twilight
With his heart flung open closely to knowing
To profess the goodness and oneness of all
And of everything that life abounds in bounty.

He is the Prophet, he is one in all
He smelled all the flowers, he treaded all through
The earth and air while taking a leap forward
To every word that hanged on his long lisping voice
Every truth that sounded since his days of dusk
Spreading its wings in many grandeurs of dawn
That his lifelong odyssey foretold in divine oracles
To light the fire of immortal existence all along
Of everything of beauty in pristine eternity.

Breaking through the mystic veil of twilight hours
The Prophet waits for the white ship to come
Laden with his cusps of wisdom, burdens of truth
And prophesies in iambus of his spoken words
For one and all to drink the cup of weal and woes
So as to soar him back to the isle of his birth
To write the last testament in his will foe God’s sake
In cursive letters of alphabetical consonance
Leaving behind his every footstep along the way
The truths and beauty of eternity and excellence
Of longing desire in pursuit of deeper depth
Of the earthen rhythm of cries and whispers
Of his walking onto this vast expanse
All along the way of the surrounding universe.

In visionary delights he unveiled the rhythm of the world
For his brethren who has come all the way to die with him
From all over the places to gather their good harvest
From his lifelong quest of goodness and love for them
And to bid him adieu to his isle of birth, to his destiny
And returning home taking back with them his wisdom
Of his life’s eventful of deeds and creeds to worship
In shrine of the worldly pains and pleasures to sustain.

Now is the time to pause for shedding tears
Now is the time not to stop for long
Now he will unfurl the sails into the winds
To leave once and for all for his blessed asylum
A cry from his brethren in single heart rending the sky
And standing ashore the Prophet professed :

A little while, and my longing shall gather
Dust and foam for another body.
A little while, a moment of rest upon the wind,
And another woman shall bear me.

(The italic stanza from Kahlil Gibran’s The Prophet.)

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What you say
Is not what you hurl
At the loudness of night
When the fireball
Catches on darkness
And the street
Calling it quits for the days
To come alive acknowledging
What you say in sigh
Of what you do not say
Is what makes you
Too numbed
To think aloud keeping
Closely apart from
The silence of swaying breeze
As you look for a bird’s nest
To flap your wings in soliloquy
To say what you do not say
The chirping silence gathers
Around you to acknowledge
What you say in sigh
And what you do not say
In shy of belittling your moments
Retreating back and forth apart
From aloneness of your silence
In long windy darkness of the night.

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Will you or will you not
Be swaying by the galloping red wind
Among the dumped woods of corpses
As slaying horse look for the morning meal
Before it is too late for the courses on the long road
To pseudo-faith carrying the dead white blood corpuscles
That mockingly grind its teeth in wayward grains
Will you or will you not ever be hurling
Your limbs to shoot off the arrow at me
In braying voice of the twanging bow?

Were I or were I not born with you
To kill the king’s clan in coup
Before it is too late to flap the wings
Piercing through the scratching silence
Closely with the walking shadows
To be dumped together among the woods
So as the corpses be writhing
With the paralysed street between you and me
In unacknowledged refuses in dim twilight?

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They look lamely the shape of beast
Bloody breath pissing on the satin soft mattress
Paralysed limbs hang on to the bulging eyeball pilloried
Like unacknowledged death staring at the scarecrow
To replicate their dark matters failing to see god’s uppercut
As they stink of the colour of horror masked in white fangs
As explicit as the walking shadow with a knife into the depth of water

They clap their nuclear libido, they flap their cheering wings
To loosely unfurl their bewitchingly shining daggers
Drawn at the huge dump of corpses hurling abusives
To allay the shapes to come in a beastly blinding darkness
On a silken crucible of fire deranged and destined in a diagonal crosswind
And they look as usual the castrated eunuchs of the empire
Thumping their breasts in shaggy fornication of perpetual power.

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