The Symphonies Of Hatred

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It's funny how much we care and work for the things that the society wants us to have. Quite often, what we really want is lost in the search of something we don't want. This is a major reason for all the unnecessary debauchery in the world. Why is everyone angry when no one actually wants to be? The environment plays an important role in our moulding, but we are purely a product of our choices. Whatever we become, we have chosen for ourselves! And the funny part is, most people have become sad and not happy.

 
The Symphonies Of Hatred

 
The symphonies of hatred,
Are not to be taken lightly.
They make and they mar quick-
And so, are valued highly.

 
For once upon a time was a boy,
A boy who lived on ounces of joy,
Veiled from the world among his toys,
Unattended by worldly decoys.
Decoys that would bring hate,
To all who knocked at its gate!

 

He was inertly forgotten by family,
But gradually lived through the tragedy,
First struck by acrimony:
When he sat alone for evening tea.
Tea that dissolved the ingredients of anger,
Drowned him in shallow rancour!

 
But it wouldn't have further bloom'd,
Had his beloved saved him of his fumes,
So time had its plan groom'd,
To burn him to his high noon.
A noon that people want and don't,
Riches of the world - with everlasting haunt!

 
The carpet was set - a final push was all,
When his ally stabbed him to his painful goal,
Alone, angry in a cage when enthralled,
He looked up to music to break his fall.
A fall imminent by his leanings,
No egress; no turnings!

 
To him the world was disdainful,
Unsympathetic to his heart painful,
Antagonistic they called his hull,
Of music he gradually lost hold.
Lost hold of all that barred him,
Filled with hatred for everyone and everything up till his brim!

 
Long arpeggios no longer protected,
From the agony erected,
Put before the world - not only the selected,
As he set fire to his guitar unprotected.
Unprotected from the wrath of his anger,
He was a human no longer!

 

Hatred gave him the power,
Through which the world, he embowered;
With a lusty fame high as the tower,
Where he sat quaintly starting at vivid flowers.
Flowers that also covered his grave,
When the morning newspaper said:
"Another spoilt Millionaire due to drug overdose, found dead."

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