Love and Rage

 

When roses are met with no praises,
Butterflies with strings,
Beauty with melancholy—
Who grieves?

The thunders you hear are nature’s wrath,
Rains pour down as she holds her tears.
Her anger comes with the roar of lightning—
Nature grieves today,
For the delicate heart is hurt.

The happy tales she recited
Lead to paths unknown.
With no peak to this mountain,
The wanderer pauses,
Collects courage, and descends
Empty-handed.

The visions, dreams, and coincidences
Were hoax, not signs.
The wanderer returns to things
That effortlessly align
With her values and aspirations—
To see what the future really holds.
This time,
No trust in delusional admirations.

So even if there’s a homecoming,
The wanderer is lost forever.
Where is the shelter?
Where is the home?
For someone who finds home
In people
Remains unsheltered.
Where does the wanderer go
When love and rage together grow?

 

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