The music gifted by you laid there in front of me,
Summarised in a tape, with cover beautiful turquoise,
I picked it up, to divert my mind from desolation,
But, upon playing it, all that came out was noise.
Abasing statements, hollow words filled the place,
And white noise surrounded the atmosphere,
Profane, chaotic mingle of debauching letters,
No words I could hear.
Reminded of your betrayal and deceives,
I threw the tape in a corner out of pain,
I decided to never think of you,
Or even from my lips take your name.
Today as I am with you happily,
I sometimes ponder over this incident for times long,
Saying to myself, that the tape must’ve been broken when thrown,
For now upon playing it comes a song.
It’s fascinating how hypocrite we humans are. In fact, I won’t call it hypocrisy in this poem, thought. It seems more like the side effect of extreme hatred or love. We make excuses all day to simply either criticize people we hate or praise the ones we love, despite the fact they may both exactly be the same.