Jashmina, do you hear my alarm bells; or do you prefer the music of hypocrisy?: A poem 

Jashmina, do you hear my alarm bells, or would you 

prefer the music of hypocrisy? Has the prolonged winter  

stolen my harvest of convictions and summer burnt my  

reliquaries of belief?  Am I to make a botany of what’s left 

after all the treachery against me? And should I display  

them as relics of my travails in the antiquated museum  

in honour of me? Do you want to be the star crosser 

that leaves my sky crestfallen? If it suits you, Jashmina, 

my outpourings of love for you, mark me with the destined 

abattoir of exploitation at the hands of the conniving. 

Will I be forever figuring out which evil I have to opt for 

in your jurisdiction, or should I apply for the bail of 

eternal suicide? Or should I lawsuit you, along with  

my enemies, in the courts of universal justice, 

for crimes and damages against me? Must my justice  

and truth be in vain, because it is your fiefdom to determine, 

and should you pledge with my enemies to take them 

eternally away from me?  Thus, let them make capital  

of my vulnerability to you, and demolish the purpose of my existence; 

if my existence was only surreal, leaving no impression on reality, 

but be witnessed as a beheaded head on parade by the demolishers  

at the whim of Delilah. Was I disrobed like the bride in the Mahabharata 

because there were such high stakes on me, and the protracted 

gamble was only meant to deceive, humiliate and defeat me!