Did I think of love
even if it didn’t materialise in the sought-after Paradise
after billions of years of sacrifice?
How can I think of tenderness
when my flesh is cut so deep
that it cannot be refreshed by its own blood
but only can be soothed by the wisdom of its pain?
Can victims even dare to dream
in spite of not entertaining the thought of their victimisation?
Did I break the husks of volition myself,
or was it imposed upon me?
I know and I can tell!
But my secrets are not organised to fight their being capitalised upon
by an army of treachery that besets me, and defeats me due to my honesty!
You can see that divinity has been imprisoned
and love has migrated to alien territories
And would I prostrate myself to the encumbrance of it
when it fears another name, and vandalises my temple in return?
Did I realise that fear is a common denominator of everything and everyone I love?
So that every aspiration of my love should result in my self-sabotage?
And I feel like a ghost who was deposed by his own dreams
Pure vision taken by slanted unblinking eyes
That a soul must know the sadness, grief and frustration
that it all takes an eternity to come to pass
And may be even that is not enough!
And how can only patience be a weapon
to see that love survives till after the protracted and prolonged pain
of it being made an enemy by the evil of the actual enemies?!
montes-musings.blog 