Why Do We Harbor Hate? (Meditative and imagery-rich version)

Why do we harbor hate

for those who dwell so close—

so close within the chambers

where our deepest longings rest?

Why, like leaves torn from the same branch,

do we suddenly drift apart—

fading like a whispered prayer

lost upon the restless wind,

so far from the warm embrace

of our yearning hearts?

Perhaps it is the weight—

the heavy weight of hope,

like stones piled high on fragile dreams,

crushing tender shoots

before they ever bloom.

An invisible chain begins—

no one knows from where—

this endless chain of expectations,

wrapping tight around our wishes

the moment they first draw breath.

And so we test our longing—

measuring it

against the cruel scale of hope,

as if hope alone

could justify desire’s existence.

As long as our yearning

passes this harsh trial,

hope’s venom cannot touch us,

and the garden of our desires

blooms wild and free.

But the moment the shadow—

black and cold—

of expectation falls heavy—

desire gasps and withers—

its fragile light extinguished

beneath the darkened sky.

From that silence,

from the hollow left behind,

hatred is born—

bitter, sharp, and cruel—

a scar carved deep

where love once dared to live.

Why do we burden desire

with hope’s heavy yoke,

expecting it to rise,

when chains pull it down,

binding wings

before they’ve learned to fly?

We gain nothing—

only lose the quiet peace

that filled the stillest places within,

as hope and longing clash,

wounding tender hearts

with silent wars.

Let desire be free—

like fire flickering in the dusk,

fragile yet alive,

dancing with the flickering light of possibility.

Bind desire only

where it can breathe and struggle—

where it may pause or turn back,

without shattering.

If we learn this—

if we hold desire gently,

like a fragile bloom beneath soft rains—

it will smile again,

and hatred will never find root,

nor grow thorny branches

in the garden of our souls.

---

The Weight of Expectation

Like winter’s frost

that settles on the bare branches—

expectation chills desire’s bloom,

turning vibrant petals brittle,

cracking the tender skin

of dreams yet unborn.

And yet, when spring rains fall—

soft, persistent, healing—

hope can coax life anew,

if it loosens its grip

and lets longing breathe.

But when expectation

becomes the storm,

how many blossoms must wither

before we learn

to let desire be gentle?

---

A Quiet Prayer

So let us whisper prayers

not for perfect love,

but for tender mercy—

for spaces where hope

and longing meet

not to bind, but to caress.

Let us hold each other

not with iron hands,

but with open palms,

ready to catch

the fragile flight

of dreams

that fear to soar.

---

Why Do We Harbor Hate?

Why do we harbor hate

for those so close—

so close within our hearts?

If we can let desire breathe free,

then hatred

will find no home.

And in this quiet reckoning—

when hate dissolves like morning mist,

and longing is no longer weighed

by chains of fragile hope—

we find a tender stillness,

where hearts, unburdened, breathe as one.

Here, beneath the vast expanse of sky,

love is neither cage nor battlefield—

but a gentle river flowing free,

inviting all wounds to heal,

inviting all souls to rest,

and finally, to be whole