Is the idea of love an illusion; is its promise, futility?: A poem 

I live in a hardknuckled existence of only knowing myself, 

a forward-backward guerilla, like a game of backgammon 

where the pieces have a right to re-entry. I am no cloak-and-dagger 

specialist, but I have an aura of intrigue, as much as I am subject to betrayal! 

So, should I ask of Eros, or Gemini, or Cupid, even the gods that determine 

familial love; what should I discern, and how do I discriminate,  

when I thought I believed blood is thicker than water, and its constituents 

flow from a fountain of antiquity, so old that it tastes both familiar 

and alien? If God had a spell, a Godspell, that was taken away from him 

by an imposterial witchcraft?! That if I should remember, right from that 

traumatic September, every iota of the crimes committed against me, 

And the devolution of love in the wake of its (love’s) abduction! My price was 

an extortion from me at every juncture of eternity. I have been besieged  

by a timeless thuggery, where the armies I loved and nurtured were made to 

snuff my belief systems with their backhanders; because they feared the evil, 

and rather stifle their courage and subserve the treachery! If I could only savour love 

like an autumn tree that sees all its leaves fall to the ground and turn to dust. Is my time  

only the season of defeat of the idea of love, and disbelief in its eternal promise? 

I have never made mountains of molehills, I have a deeper understanding; 

But is such understanding only prone to deceit? What is the futility of it all, if everything is  

a joke, a hoax, a fallacy! I have never claimed to be debutante, but I also am never faux pas! 

It is the historic felons who have claimed the right to call justice-seekers felons! 

You all can question your faith if you respect truth, I can only accept my fate, even with all my courage and  

defiance; if defeat should reduce me to embers, and I die a death; but am sworn never to be misplaced! 

This countenance will never diminish even if all else loved, by me, atrophies in character? 

Nobody can blame me for never forgiving, even for the love of all I love, that forgiveness is  

not the decorum or order of duty, even if one is reduced to hors de combat! I know for  

certain that judiciousness and astuteness are more righteous than duty to love! There is no  

justification in condoning treachery, especially, the treachery that is so straitjacketing of  

you, that leaves you with no options! You think I have no right to curse the perennial treachery for eternity?! 

Published by montecyril

Hi, I am Monte Cyril Rodrigues and live in Melbourne, Australia. I am a retired journalist. I have been diagnosed with schizophrenia. I've had voices and visions all my life. I think it is a spiritual experience, my doctors think otherwise. I am a deeply spiritual person and keep having experiences with otherworldly realms.

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