The Hate

When one desire another's aim denies,

And wills collide, then hate begins to rise.

They creep in quiet, cloaked in shame,

A whisper first, then full-blown flame.

They spark from wounds not yet confessed,

A fear unmet, a heart unblessed.

They grow in glances, left unchallenged,

In bitter jokes, in thoughts unbalanced.

They feed on silence, thrive on doubt,

Until we scarcely call them out.

They bloom in traffic, curt replies,

In weary parents' sleepless sighs.

In classrooms where the loud survive,

And softer voices twist and dive.

They whisper in the hiring freeze,

In sideways stares and tightened knees.

They sit in boardrooms, cold and neat,

And trickle down through crowded streets.

They wear a thousand, borrowed skins—

The flag, the faith, the tribe, the sins.

They justify with twisted lore, a cruel, dynamic weapon,

Then knock, demanding open doors.

They rise in posts behind a screen,

Where avatars grow cold and mean.

They wear the mask of "just a joke,"

But carry sparks enough to choke.

They march proud through books and schools,

Turn law to weapon, men to tools.

They stain the tongue with easy blame,

Point fingers with no face or name.

They draw a line in every street,

Then claim that justice tastes like heat.

They hide in jokes at someone’s name,

In questions laced with quiet shame.

“Where are you from?” with narrowed eyes—

A thousand doors behind disguise.

They slip into the way we teach,

The heroes praised, the truths we breach.

They live in maps with borders drawn,

In stories where one side is gone.

They're born when mercy's cast aside,

When empathy is crucified.

They find a home in those who've cried,

Then turn their tears to sharpened pride.

Yet hate is hunger, never fed—

They grow, consume, and leave us dead.

They cannot love, they cannot heal,

They only know how not to feel.

But there is light, a different fire—

Not forged in rage, but fierce desire:

To see the soul behind the mask,

To sit with pain, to learn, to ask.

Yet hope is found in smaller things—

A neighbor's laugh, the song one sings.

A meal that's shared without a score,

A hand held open at the door.

In asking more than telling loud,

In standing back to see the crowd.

In listening when it would be fast

To interrupt or judge the past.

It’s harder work than war or spite,

To hold a stranger’s fear at night.

To build when burning feels more fast,

To choose a future, not the past.

So let us speak, though voices shake.

Let kindness be the risk we take.

Let stories pass through every gate—

And love outlast, outlive…

the hate.