Humanity

My ancestors

were lovers of freedom—

the kind of people

who could laugh

while laying down their lives

at the altar of their homeland.

Their courage still flows

through the veins I carry.

I do not follow any religion,

nor do I bow

to any all-powerful deity—

except the one faith

my grandfather taught me

while wiping sweat

from his brow in the fields:

“Do good to everyone, son—

everything else is just noise.”

Religion?

It has only one true name: Love.

It doesn’t bloom

in temples or mosques,

but slowly, quietly

in the way people treat each other.

Language?

It is simply the language of the heart—

needing neither words

nor grammar;

only a little space,

a little warmth

in someone’s beloved chest.

And God—

He lives in those hands

that lift burdens

without asking for a name,

in those eyes

that wipe the tears

of a stranger on the road.

That is the inheritance

I call my only faith—

Humanity,

Truth,

Brotherhood,

and the soft, steady glow of love

that brightens someone's spirit

and lightens someone’s load.

Caste?

I’ve only ever seen one—

the kind where, in a crowded train,

someone shifts a little

so a stranger may sit.

This is my religion:

Humanity,

Brotherhood,

Love,

Kindness,

and the courage to speak the truth.

Religion?

There is only one—

and its name is Love.

Language?

Only one—

the heart’s.

It needs no grammar,

only a little room

and a little warmth

near another beating heart.

And God—

He is everywhere

in those who help quietly,

not caring who they help.

I belong to no religion.

I walk only toward that place

where a person

slowly, gently,

becomes a little more

human.