The moment I felt like crying,
he looked at me
and without a word,
he smiled,
he made me laugh,
But I cried more.
For I know better
that he feels the pain
but chose to make
me see the bright
to spare me for
the night.

He doesn't burn photographs
He doesn't join therapy sessions
He doesn't smoke too many cigarettes
Nor he drown himself into alcohol
He scratches his wounds daily
And never let them heal
He doesn't try to get rid of the pain
Instead he let it grow on him
He waters the seed of sorrow with his tears
He feeds it with the manure of old memories
He takes it to sleep with him
And nurtures it in himself
Till the moment when every single drop of his blood gets replaced by this pain
Until his fragile heart can bear no more
And his soul starts overflowing with emotions
That's when he dip his pen into this pain
And empty his heart on a piece of paper
He bares his soul for us to feel
He creates poetry that the world would cherish for centuries to come

I know
you hold
the world
of truth

I can
feel it
between
each gaze

Shows
a hint
of what
the universe
may be
therefore
giving endless
casts of
sense