This is an emotion, one of its kind.
You tend to lose, all your mind.
When you think of something, and do that's worse.
Ain't love, its anger, that makes one blind

You say things that, you never intend.
shedding all your decents, all the goods you pretend.
You break the rules, to quench your fury.
Some do it to a level, to confront a jury.
Then face the wrath, by the rules nature set.
Regret all your actions, to your last breath.
The pain you rendered, on a soul in anger.
Is a burden you bore, it's a lifetime debt.

Reciting till tens, or counting a ton.
May forget all that, when rage strikes one.
Do harm to others, or thing thou own.
See love and caring, all be blown.
Disgusted by those, who did honor.
Cause angried you once, labelled crazy as genre.
The image once ruined, is ruined forever.
No matter what tried, or how good you're fawner.

And then, you are back.
In the minds, anger lack.
Looking around, you cry in sense.
Thing are broken, relation are tense.
You feel the guilt, for all your loss.
You threatened your mate, when devil was boss.
A wrath you know, no one else care about.
And relations that care, you have taken for a toss.

The pieces of things,
emotions and relations,
scattered all over,
Peace nowhere to find.
This is an emotion, one to its kind.
Ain't love, its anger, that makes one blind.

-Abhishek

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