Commotion of Emotions

To be a philosopher, Is to love and hate together. Praise the Lord - While denying his existence; And stabbing your own back. It is a mix of everything everywhere; To know that you don't know, To live in minutes and seconds, And breathe through the skin, And talk with your eyes. It is a conflict, With the community inside! The brain; the conscience; the heart. To contradict self - And live in eternal enquiry. It is to talk, But to oneself - Indulged in self-inquisition. To stray away from the world, And be branded mute. Every day a war, Every word a battle, Every deduction a fight, Every green a blue, And every second a wrong! It is to question, What all take for granted; And deny, What all take for law; And sing about every flaw. It is to stand alone, And not able to explain why! It is to not know the difference - Between a gift and a curse. It is to believe and make believe.

They told me they would fight, Against all wrong; For what is right. But when time came tapping at their door, They merely watched - rooted on the floor. In chaos of routine the renegades walked slowly, Defiling the unsaid law, were beaten wholly. All clapped rooting for the law, Manifested with iron rods and knives and claw! There was a young woman I recall, On the train, at the dawn of fall, Reclined against a seat - watching outside, Perhaps dreaming all that we do, sometimes. There was a young man too, Newly in love, cheek by jowl they flew - When an old man pointed at her attire, "They're too tight, this whore's provoking desire!" It was time, when deference knocked at the door, But all they did was stand, rooted on the floor! Goons rushed to serve the elderly gentleman, Where stood the young man - stout and defiant! 'Insolent!' cried someone from the crowd, Voice incognito but loud. P