EMOTIONAL QUOTIENT BRINGS GRACE AND DISGRACE, BOTH!

I wonder, what is the point of having discussions

When there is no positive repercussions

How will you mollify people

Offering flowers being trodden by their arrogant ripple

They are frantically driven with deaf ears and blinded eye

Is there any point to make any vie

Even they are not being moved when people miserably die

Not caring how long they too survive with what aspiration to cry?

Human's life too is ephemeral

Still we crave to have bliss which we consider as eternal

Only thing we observe as phenomenal

How past propound on us to force sing a song with continuity in incremental

Which only enveloped our milieu in vociferous

Our vision become blurred with an instant hysteria to emerge in chorus

Hardly we can visualize the future, devoid of past in superiority

Present appears as simply a dot, where past only engulf us exponentially

Past guides with a commanding tone

Where there is always a dearth to atone!

We always tend to fight against nature

In our reflections nature appears with beauty to rapture

Hardly we can realize

We mortals are only responsible to show our tyranny only to reduce our size!

Our gesture too guided by our brain with its reflecting style

It foments us to make attributes with uniform design

Just to promote a systematic way of align

Yet there is always an adverse trait in adherence

Still our endeavors always make a huge difference

Where hostility being turned into amiability by our emphatic presence

Yet we unreasonably triggered to envy our own entity

Our fancy unknowingly beckon our own jeopardy

Which only kindle on us to disrupt nature's intriguing tune with malevolence

Being captivated by nature's own crafted design

We human are forced to wage war against her only to taste her the essence of malign

Forgetting that nature is the greatest teacher who alone teaches us not to be in vain

Our life is just a hyphen only to accelerate a cycle of change in prolonged process to reign!

A process of continuity always prevalent in Earth's floor with grandeur

where roses, an insignia of love, or tears, a symbol of pain emerges in galore

Still we failed to make love and amity

The only form to emerge as champion with conformity

We only crazy to resort to myriad nefarious traits

Just to garner mundane wealth, profits and prosperity in haste

Not bothering humanity is needed to proliferate with grace

What a menace we alone posing to mankind

We are almost reaching to the verge of extinction out of our false pride

Are not we construing our own epitaph?

Who will virtually pay tribute to our own cenotaph?