Holy Is As Holy Does

Every religion preaches

a single, bleeding truth:

Treat others as you wish to be treated.

And then —

in the very next breath,

sharpened by centuries of repetition —

it demands you convert, correct, or kill

anyone who dares whisper that truth

in a different tongue.

Because devotion, apparently,

is only sacred

if it rhymes with your scripture.

Mercy, only valid

if it’s sung in your dialect.

Peace, only permitted

if it wears your god’s signature scent.

They say God is one.

But we have franchised Him

into elaborate packages,

each with their personalized discount codes to divinity,

holy copyrights,

and punishment plans

on signing up for the other one

as if God was fast food.

We light lamps.

They light candles.

Someone else kneels to stone,

and another folds their hands to air.

But the fire burns the same —

only the matches change.

You call it devotion.

But it walks like war.

Bleeds like empire.

And smells like history repeating itself

in the color of every flag

we wrap around our corpses.

Every prayer ends with “peace be upon you.”

And every battlefield begins

with someone deciding

whose peace matters more.

We preach kindness in the morning,

and by sunset,

we’ve burned a village

because its children mispronounced salvation.

We don’t build gods.

We build weapons

shaped like gods.

And call it faith.

And in that faith,

we draw borders —

not around land,

but around love.

So don’t tell me

all religions preach the same thing.

They do.

But never to the same people.

And never without "conditions apply" in small print so fine, 

you'd be myopic enough to miss them 

even with your glasses on

Because in this divine lottery,

truth wears uniforms.

Gods come with disclaimers.

And heaven has a guest list.

The only commandment we all follow?

Kill the mirror

before it shows

you and the heretic

are the same dust

praying for different rains.