What is pain?
Perhaps shards of flawless diamonds
Broken and shattered,
Into tiny bits,
Into tiny splinters
Of the glass our
Souls so fragile
Are made of…
Perhaps it is the blood
That drips unseen
When words or circumstances
Of sharp daggers
Pierce deep into our hearts
Innocent of the cruelty
Naive of the filth and utmost
Idle work of the dirt around us
Perhaps it is the unnamed thing
Present invisible around us
Creating tears which fall forever
From the ever tearful eyes
Filling buckets…..deepening into eternity
It is perhaps the wound created
Ever to last ….never to die
Etched forever,
Imprinted on perennial leather
The beginning of hate
Even though it is never too late
To forgive and forget
Things which can be forgiven
And forgotten…