When the heart is desecrate,

Fervour reigns supreme.

No prayerful heart ever requires

A temple for esteem.

 

Love is a beggarly itinerant

And seeks for love abroad;

Loving beggars show scant pursuit

Of temple, mosque, or god.

 

Those that hate must first destroy

Another’s house of prayer;

Then build their temple brick by brick

On a frenzy of gleeful fear.

 

Greater the guilt more the gold

That devotees bequeath

To idols who cannot berate

From behind the golden wreath.

 

O for shrines of nakedness

That encumbrances shun;

No prayer may ever be more telling

Than that of naked men.

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