A Cantankerous Symphony

What are we,
But the notes of a cantankerous symphony,
The Symphony of the Mortals,
Of humanity.

The crescendo of life, that sweeps us up
To the crest of consonance
Among the mind and body –
And with clamour rather,
Pummels us down to the bottom,
The bottom of our very essence.

Yet,
It never happens so swiftly.
We seldom oscillate to these extremes with such ease.
The dilated stretch of time
Moving ever so steadily –
Felt only by the prudent,
Like the stars that only the nocturnal see,
Permits us those moments of euphoria too.

The world,
An orb of ornery and placidity,
A home of all the euphoric catalysts,
Our home.
Even in the presence

Of the ceaseless awareness of impending doom,
We live.
We breathe.
We smile.
‘I’, becomes ‘us’.
Thence why subsume the self,
In trepidation of the unknown?
When one can embrace the aura,
The charm,
Ever present in the lodgings of the soul.

Humanity thy name is,
Then why abandon the ‘human’?
Like a beast,
Driven by the lust of profit,
Profit – not of the Mind,
But of the Form.

The blissful ignorance of the present,
The neglect of the endowment that is life,
By and by,
Creating a symphony
Of peculiar content,
Of nefariousness,
Of dissension,
Composed by its notes,
Its creators,

The cantankerous symphony.