The Question of Conflict

It seems like the root cause of melancholic existence,
Is linked with the ignorance, that leads to the questions of conflict,
These questions are those when in our heart of hearts, we fear,
That our opinion is away from true natural intuition by a distance,
The veil of calumny continuously covers our cognition, to afflict,
Ourselves with a permanent state of pretense, when unsure we appear,
About the validity of our judgement and subsequent presuppositions,
So in our minds, these elemental faults,
Cause conflicting and confusing conditions,
The question of conflict, the clash of characteristics, the dilemma of discord,
Are really just dogmatic indoctrinations, under whose effect the self was once floored,
And forever now it is indebted to standby firm and defend its claim,
The person in turn is gifted with perennial pain and perplexity in its name,
But the society incentivizes those who choose deceit and domination as their aim,
The sad and flustered hypocrite we honor, the happy and unruffled flexible philosopher we blame.


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