(…free of the treachery of thieves and hijackers like Prakash Saint Paul, Anthony Albanese and their ilk)
Do you think love was a weaver’s factory
where you can predict what is ultimately woven?
I can say I found true love in a wicker basket
of a cradle; without being able to possess it?
Do you think I felt sceptical that I need redemption from the folly of such belief?
I believe, even if they compel me to think that love, for me, is a shut vault
buried deep in the sands of a universe
that have my enemies take my sublime ambience with
a prodding stick to incite me to feel frustration
and then please them with my helpless subjection!
I am not forgiving anybody for comfort and convenience!
No matter how much they seem to render all that I cherish to humiliation!
I feel my justification is in a silent congratulation
that I myself haven’t heard but yet prone to faith
We have voices coming from an unseen eternity
like Dad beckoning in soulful dignity, that this
is no waste of effort, even if Fate makes no haste of
its choices. We are not libertine, but the evil that shackles
us seems to be. They are also surreptitious from a
Stygian realm. But I know mother is watching over me!
Her wand is dropping magic dust all over my perspective
And I lie in this wonder, expectant of an ultimate miracle!
montes-musings.blog 