Where do I stand?

This doesn't make much sense to me now,though I suppose it did when I wrote it all those many months ago. But that's what having a blog is about, right? Posting stuff without worrying who's going to like it or not.

There are the lifelong condemned,

And the ones from whom the vitriol spills,

The ones whose lives are misery,

And the ones who make this misery reality.

There are those brimming with contempt,

And they feel they must let it out,

On unsuspecting, defenseless victims,

And so for the schadenfreude,

That comes along with it,

Those bemused prey they flout.

Some of the takers,

Have sufficient venom,

To spill and pierce their oppressors,

But being, a tad more sensible,

They see no reason in that,

For enacting ‘tit for tat’.

So they leave the imbeciles be,

They shed a tear or two,

In some cases it’s not that few

But for the most part,

They display indifference,

During the withering of their heart,

And sometimes seek condolence,

Support, or confidence.

Sometimes they may even reply,

But they’re laughed at even more,

And go back to wanting to die.

Now, lets for a moment consider,

A possible, plausible situation.

One day an oppressed, hurting one,

Decides, “Enough is enough,

I'm going to respond to them,

I'm going to stand up to them,

I'm going to teach them.”

And then, looks in the mirror.

And sees no hint of Satan in himself,

Sees not one gutsy particle shining through

And suddenly decides,

“Why not just join them?

“They might shun me initially,

But eventually they’ll welcome me,

Offer their comradeship,

And their pathos friendship,

And ill join them,

And in a lucky moment,

I’ll emerge feared, famous,

And, most of all, wanted.”

He convinces himself further,

By saying all sorts of things,

“I’ll have what I’ve always wanted:

Friends (or whatever version of that they can be),

Company (though I’m not sure how pleasant it’ll be)

Recognition, though I know for the wrong reasons.”

In that moment, he forsakes,

Something very important.

If he didn’t even have the guts,

To tell his teasers to take a walk,

And never return,

Then where will he muster the courage.

To be on their side,

Of the forever raging battle,

To deride people till they cry,

To hurt them, make them want to die?

He will garner the wrath,

The disdain, the scorn,

And the methods to display it,

From his immense desperation,

To have a name that is known,

Among those who matter in the social circle,

Among those who have ignored him before.

Among those who have been the center of attention,

At least once in their lives.

This absolute desperation,

Stems from the fact,

That he is tired of being considered,

As part of the furniture,

Or not considered at all.

The only thing he hates more,

Than being talked about,

Even for the wrong reasons,

Is not being talked about at all.

He hopes he can then use his power,

And the fame he’s now achieved,

To change peoples perception of him,

To show them how normal,

How kind and sweet and smart he really is.

How he was forced,

By circumstances and the past,

To join this group of hooligans.

But alas! Little does he realise,

That he’s spewing lies.

For in the time he stuck with the jeerers,

He transformed into one as well.

He made a number of people’s lives hell,

And for what?

For a selfish desire.

To douse his ire.

This is how a group of teasers originates.

All of those wretched souls,

Have some or the other,

Feeble justification,

For their crimes against humanity.

If not the situation I described.

It is perhaps, some other,

But I assure you, dear reader,

It will be very similar.

Let us never allow ourselves,

To be fooled into believing

That these mockers,

Deserve pity, or empathy,

Don’t believe it when they say,

They didn’t chose the path they’re on,

That it was circumstances that moulded who they are.

Because however much we deny it,

It rings true for everything:

We always have a choice.

A choice between right and wrong

A choice between standing up to it,

Or just simply going along.

A choice between being famous,

And being loathed, infamous.

A choice between hurting,

Or getting hurt.

A chance to choose,

Whose side we are on.

The choice we make,

At whatever age,

Decides whether we turn out as spectators,

Or as initiators, as originators,

As non violent preachers,

Or violent, malicious creatures.

Whether we are just part of the crowd,

Or whether we stand out.

But this isn’t the note,

I want to end on,

I offer you something else,

To ponder upon.

Why are those who are laughed at,

Chosen to be the sufferers?

Is it merely because they are weak?

Or might it be, because they too,

Tried to act too big for their boots,

But got hushed by boos,

Which eventually ended up in them

Being condemned till the end of time?

Were they chosen to be teased,

On the basis of rumours

That they were part of?

If that is the case,

Where did these come from?

Did they actually do,

Or are they really,

What the oppressors claim they are?

Because after all,

We can’t blame people for proclaiming the truth,

Even if the way they say it is deriding and rude,

Even if the methods they employ,

To get their point across,

Leaves a couple of people

Depressed, and morose.

If they are on the right side of things,

Who are we to stop them?

(Unless of course they kill someone)

Most of the time, however,

They are on the wrong side of things,

And, thus, nothing they say,

Can justify anything they do.

Just remember, forevermore,

Before you start showing your hatred,

Or your unconditional support,

Take a moment, sit back,

Play devil’s advocate.

Then, whomever you believe is really wrong,

Do to them what they deserve,

What you feel they deserve.

But don’t worry,

Even if you cannot,

Even if you are wrong,

In the decision you deliver,

On Judgment Day,

He will be there to say,

“This is what you’ve earned,

Now bare it!”