Our gods are thirty million, evenly spread in the sky.
Their population is ever rising in our lonely dreams
Highly incandescent, like flickering insects of light
Roaming the mountains, giant trees and lonely crags.

At night, from bus windows, we see fires raging
On mountains, lighting the sky alongside stars
As eyes are half-shut from night videos showing
Film heroes dealing with evil on one to one basis
In punches of musical sounds, in full orchestra.


We have covered every possible fear in our bellies
Every possibility of snakes, ghosts, every danger
In nook and corner, trees of canopies, glacial rivers
Lives and deaths of ancestors, their spirits roaming
The country, lonely washer men’s ponds and pots
Old tamarinds with hair shrieking in the night sky.


Due to lurking dangers we are not taking chances.
We have taken a census of gods of full thirty million
Not a god less, in count, covering every possibility.
A 2.5% ratio to population seems a fair risk cover.



(We are now 1200 million, but the gods of our pantheon have remained stable at 30 million)





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