beautiful and delicate things which surround us sometimes bind us in invisible ways.for every rose that blooms, there is a teardrop that is shed somewhere.for every pearl that is born in the womb of the sea creature, there is a child who dies of hunger.
for every butterfly which grows its magical wings, a man goes down on a battlefield.for every evidence of happiness, there is truth of pain.
you hurt and feel empty and without direction whenever you see the sun rise with the promise of a new day.when the rain pours down, you sit and see how each drop destructs itself as it embraces the earth.for all the colours out there in this world, you come to realise there never was a rainbow made for you.every task seems like that of Sisyphus,every thing you touch turns into dust.you sit in the shade of a poison tree and wait for the venom to invade your mind.
A Poison Tree by William Blake
I was angry with my friend:
I told my wrath, my wrath did end.
I was angry with my foe:
I told it not, my wrath did grow.
And I watered it in fears
Night and morning with my tears,
And I sunned it with smiles
And with soft deceitful wiles.
And it grew both day and night,
Till it bore an apple bright,
And my foe beheld it shine,
And he knew that it was mine -
And into my garden stole
When the night had veiled the pole;
In the morning, glad, I see
My foe outstretched beneath the tree.