Hatred and Meditation
Do I hate?
Do I use the word correctly?
Do I respect its insurrection on rationality?
Do I feel the emotion expressly revealed
Is hate’s searing devotion the lesson that seals
our soul’s subjection?
I hate potato salad.
I hate country western ballads.
I hated sweet potato
but I ate it when grandma said so.
I hate vapid pop music;
I rate it invalid acoustics.
I hated when daddy hit momma
when they hated the trauma of hate
that made strangers out of lovers,
dispirited hate externally creating
the hate from within.
I hate butterscotch,
and yes, I hate pop-rocks,
and yes, I hate culture shock,
displacement while vultures flock
I hated bullies, and
I hate being bullied.
I hated bullies who bullied me.
I hated having to fight them
for the right to subsist.
I hated fighting bullies
so the fight in the next bully
would cease to exist.
I hated fighting
for the sake of fighting.
I hated lightning and thunder
of fists rendering flesh asunder,
my knuckles knuckling under
my hated fate.
I hate being marginalized.
I despise being patronized.
I surmise that I hate that surprising
of genocide of the natives.
I hated being born fated
as a second-rated citizen
in my nation, born from hate,
fear, and superstition.
I hated suspension of disbelief
in reality offering no relief
in fostering only grief and suffering.
I hated my place in the universe.
I hated the racial fight
in the perverse plight
to maintain the right to exist even
as second-rated civilian.
I hate that I relate to privilege
from the bottom of a boot heel.
My hate in its sacrilege
is throttled by acute appeal.
Is it hate
that makes me try to avoid hatred?
There are many who hate
that makes them try to destroy
what they hated.
I know we don’t hate the same
or mean the same thing
when we endure hatred.
I want to eradicate
the lame machine of pain
screaming of pure conflated abhorrence
that makes one man crush another
for discovering differences.
We all suffer.
Do I hate?
Do I verb it correctly?
Should I select an interjection
with less lethality?
Can I kill an emotion that exists
to make people kill?
Can we fill a devotion that persists
as a poison pill?
Why do we hate?
Can I ever relate?
I hope not.
NOTE: If you are offended by the image above, the words in this poem, the embedded video, but feel nothing about the riots, hatred, and violence that took place yesterday in Charlottesville, then you need to do some soul-searching. I am sickened and deeply saddened by what we have become as a nation.
5 thoughts on “Hatred and Meditation”
I am so, so, sorry! From the bottom of my heart do I hear you and the others. I live in South Africa so have a very good idea of what you are all going through. Please look out for yourselves as best you can. Keep writing!
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Thank you. Thank you. I’m glad for your comforting words. As a black man, it’s a struggle for me to even leave the house. Thank you.
Oye! What’s there to say in support? Be strong.
Hate is “self-rot” as you described it toward the end. I can see how one can get caught up in it. One meditation practice is to smile. I think smiling sets the brain right-side up even when one doesn’t feel like it is doing anything.
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Thanks Frank. Smiling is proving to be nearly impossible this weekend, but I hear you.