Is love an open-ended word
like galvanising an everlasting
endeavour, or actually just a
jigsaw to be shattered in frustration,
serving as a task of taking
away the productivity of travail toward
the end-purpose. I see a dawn fall into
a cusp of belief and unbelief, trust and
distrust of love against the backdrop of
demanding, tyrannous blackmail of my loves,
to betray me by clandestinely cahooting treacherisers!
So, I too, indulge in a farrago of my instincts
and actions. Because I know, it is fait accompli
that all my choices are prey to an abduction
between two evils! Must this knowledge
be silenced! For, if it is uttered, there are
more criminal proceedings against me and
other victims?! Thus, every dawn is a motley aubade,
of love, every dusk is a realisation of such futility!
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