Most of us have
Nothing to say.
Silence is gold, and we have
Discovered a mine.
Nay, many mines.
But, look closely.
Our calm and quiet
Are only when others
Suffer and are in pain.
Those tales don’t touch us.
Waters down the mackintosh
Without a moist spot within.
But, own pain is real.
That blood drips agony.
Those piercing nails
Torment more than
Even Christ on the cross.
Every moment is torturous.
I am the world.
When I suffer
My world suffers.
The same world
Whose pangs and woes
Left me untouched.
Nary a whisper of dew
On the petals of my cheeks.
Love is that magic wand.
Me becomes they.
They become us.
There are no pains
Separate and different:
One real and the other imagined.
You feel, you cry.
On the cross you die.
Even when He is the one
Who is nailed.
Everything is real
Within and without.
You own his or her pain.
His world is yours.
Your world is his.
You own the universe.
You’ve never been so rich.
How bizarre it can get:
I am
When I am not.
P.S. The featured image is courtesy: https://seelenkompass.medium.com/we-are-all-connected-in-the-universe-ab1d354feec8
