Ode On Love And Hate Poem by Aniruddha Pathak

O thou life's twain called love and hate,
What if I see you separate?
Love would be prime— no predicate,
Under the garb of love can hide no hate.

Yet, equal world worships both you,
Favoured nor frowned, eyes royal blue,
I've seen both wear a varied hue,
But world's nothing if not of dual view.

For, a day spared is, love to cheer,
Hate has widest field as its sphere,
Feeling free to hawk round the year,
If love is, hate seems no less to world dear.

And O Love, a poor prostitute,
In wedding garments looking cute,
Exploited when ye trade its fruit,
Thine esteem raped, ye keep will's voice on mute.

If love's graceful erotic art,
Emanating from human heart,
So is hate a product of heart,
But art there's not even of hundredth part.

Emotions of volcanic scale,
Love-hate— one's cyclone, the ‘ther gale,
Spontaneous to hate or hail,
And life is either heaven, or else hell.

By stroke of fate may man rule world,
Or hated not here-to-fore heard,
To heal hearts try ever onward,
But cure may come or not, a whimsy bird.

Should hate widen gulfs of distance,
Should hearts cause it more to enhance,
Love fills up the space-time at once,
O Love, O Hate, thine seems a quirky dance!

Love's born if of faith, so is hate,
Love lives on hope; hate's no such fate,
Lacking trust, hate enters rear gate,
Ye both still suffer an uncertain state.

Siamese twins, O love and hate,
One leaves to let-in bosom-mate,
One dies its twain rules human fate,
The trick is to stretch love's expiry date!

And if there be life without love,
Life without hate whatso won't move,
Life's fulcrum, thou art central groove,
Man's very existence ye tend to prove.

And two sides of a coin the same,
Differing only in the name,
Man likes love and hates hate, poor dame!
Should one die, the other feels shorn of aim.

And yet, the day love's drained of hate,
Purest, it now reaches the highest state.
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Ode | 08.12.2017 |