THE ART OF DECEPTION

THE ART OF DECEPTION 
Harry Bissoon 5/02/2026

Several years ago, my grandfather and I sat under a huge tamarind tree, in the early morning glow of the sun, the rays of which streamed through the branches of the  giant tree. A gentle wind played with the tamarind tree,allowing the sun to cast dancing shadows where we sat. 
My grandfather, being poetic as he always was, in a solemn mood, he gave me one of his made from the heart sermons. 

Never think, he said,that living things are inactive, or quiet! They may be silent, complacent, and seemingly unresponsive, but they are always in motion.  Microcosmic atoms collide, producing waves of energy and thought patterns, he proffered. Be cautious and mindful of this energy, cognizant of its art of camouflage and subterfuge, as we become embroiled in the vicissitudes, nay, the platitudes of this chaotic madness in which we find ourselves, seething, clutching,and even dancing in sublime celebration, innocently unmindful!

Living things bleed from the unkindly stabs that are  inflicted by zealous anomalies of suicidal misfits! But yet, living things thrive and flourish in proportional leaps and bounds, buffeted by helpful hands! 

We bleed and heal, by insidious, unexpected stabs, as if Caesar was only a Mark Anthony gone terribly wrong. What injustice roam the dark lands, as brothers, born in separation, roam the land. Are we fodder in a mad play? Are we doomed? Nay, we are pawns in a game of stupendous stupidity, trapped in synchronized lullaby. 

My grandfather and I sat under the flamboyant tamarind tree and contemplated the fact that, we, living and breathing homo sapiens, have the powers of deception!

We must break free, my grandfather cautioned. 

As I sit today under my Sapodilla tree in West Palm Beach,Florida,  I reflect on the many insightful, mind boggling things that my grandfather, Mr. Jagan, told me.

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