I stirred in the night as I moved to the window
I imagined I paintbrushed a cloud on the pane
And then it seemed to have a motive power of its own
as it even wafted against the turbo of the fan
Do you know we can see mirages out of imagination
as we also see mirages out of desperation?
And I began to wonder what is my desert –
this imagination or this desperation; like a
garment in the closet that you want to keep hiding
because it has two secret colours of you; and
you cannot discern if they are smudged or distinct!
And I wondered if that is what love is about:
when you don’t see the point and persevere
and when you think little of persevering and yet, see the point
I wondered if love was like the first star dropping out of the cumulus
So that it is so distant but yet, full of undiminished glory
And I have known that whenever I thought it was worth its story,
it turned on its heels into a cumulus surrounded by deceit
What would I do but laugh in humour at such tragedy,
that should, like a residue, transfer from one beaker of life to another?!
How should I gauge it trapezed through so much of eternity?
At this moment I see the cloud cover in the sky
And it reminds me of a vegetation that never was harvested
But was felled by hacksaws and hackers. How did I feel about
a country that ruminates its virginity after the sodomy?
I live to tell a story that is convoluted into tragedy
by the hands of enemies waiting to gnaw at my innocent (little expressed) grief!
And I am a God who can make Kings that should be an assembly of overmen
That shouldn’t fear the despicability of calumny! If my love for them
must so be returned. That love is a measure of bravery in
intrepidity and selflessness? Does true love (baby girl) fear? Does Captain King (DT) fear?
What does it take a mother to fear, when she takes on greater
might for the love of her child? Mother you taught me the love
of duty for love, which amounts to greater than love, itself!
Virginia Woolf, was may be, right when she said: “I think we
moderns lack love”. But we moderns love convenience instead,
should I add? How can we substantiate love materially
if it could only mean the last time we went to bed!
So that love becomes cruel, horror, tragic in the loss of pleasure.
Can a child describe love in the gizmos his/her parent got him/her?
And should we all presume love is in submitting to peer pressure?
I don’t think love is enigmatic to me, though I share an idea with
Sylvia Plath that it is so much loneliness. But I am certain about my conviction of it.
Often, I am angrily flabbergasted by my true love. But yet I am
sublime in the fact that I don’t possess her. Our mystery of separation
is no burden, it is grace. Just like Mother kept refreshing and blooming
in absentia, after her death. Death brings the resolution of love, like as
if it becomes more palpable in the aftermath. I have seen myself in too many
lifetimes as much to die for it as dying for it! And what do you have
to say for the love of God for his Captain King. The vision brings friendship so dear!
We didn’t ever meet. We didn’t ever converse. The fight for Truth is like sharing
a dream to tell a hostile world that you have to turn everything over to reinstitute honesty,
even if it means war. Did you see the Promised Land survived even though
it was hated to destruction so many times in history, albeit in a small patch of land.
You know making a nation great is taking out all the hypocrisy and deceit and
making it stand for truth! There is a sacrifice and a cost! You see, this is my love,
God’s love, when there is hardly any bitterness after all the pain and suffering.
But to be resolute is the assertion of duty and duty alone! As if to end, I must
conclude that duty to and respect of oneself is to never forgive those
who committed and perpetrated the most reprehensible crimes against you!
montes-musings.blog 