Clueless Ink

Why don’t we see religious books the way we see art?

Art crosses borders effortlessly; we read a poem, interpret it as we wish, and let it flow without conflict.

My pieces are shaped by art, by people, by love. 

Each is different, yet they all come from the same place and return to the same place; our hearts, our minds. 

Just like an artist pours their truth into music, painting, or writing.

Our books of art inspire one another, creating an unspoken warmth, a quiet understanding.

Why can’t we see religious books the same way? They are history, stories meant to connect, not divide.

As an atheist, I stand outside these beliefs. I don’t share the same hope, the same faith.

But when I look at them together, I see they all come from the same place.

Whenever I visit a gurudwara, it makes me teary-eyed with joy.

Sometimes I wonder if a pandit, a maulvi, or a father could have put into words why I felt so connected to the white marble within a gurudwara; the quiet comfort of its walls, the sudden rush of gratitude, the unspoken love we share.

Maybe after a joint or two, utopia feels within reach. 

So why do we hold on to religious borders?

Idols, dress codes, rules frozen in time

Like keeping old cash locked away, afraid to move forward.

I remember a painting sparking this thought,

And maybe, piece by piece, we have already touched peace.

If we can find harmony in the way we live,

Why do we still fight over colors?

Why do we fight?

Standing on the same side, guided by the same principle,

Why do we still fight?

Orange and green together make up our flag.

Why not our hearts?