I am not who you call a Muslim
Whom you see down the street and whisper furtively among yourselves,
Murderous, impulsive 
Blinded by hate and a fierce devotion to merciless religious rituals, crying, 
“Purge this land of unbelievers”
I am not what you call a Hindu
Worshipper of idols, self-appointed overseers of birth and caste,
In an effort to placate pagan gods; 
Or diligently watch the stars and moon;
Content to leave my life to the mercy
Of unknown elements. 
But neither am I what you call a Christian
Exclusive, selfish but condescending,
All for show
Barring our doors to those that need us the most;
“For the good of us all” you say.
Then pass by with a pitiful glance at
The single mother and immigrant neighbor with their rent three months overdue;
Our faith like a drawn sword meant to tear down
Those who dare question us. 
Nor am I what you call a Buddhist or a Jew
Promised to one or to none;
Either peaceful or...the other extreme
“Tread lightly among them all” you say; 
You never know when they'll turn around
All guns and words and say,
“You too."
Neither am I who you call “atheist,”
Living non-conformist lives in an independent madness,
Denying God, temple and ordained religion;
Their sin will catch up with them;
Just wait and see.
Then you turn around to face me and speak
“It is time to pick a side”
"Which one of them are you?”
But I reply
“None of these”
And that you just couldn't take. 

Rtr. Acsah Kulasingham

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