You who never got to weep
They left you there, old thorn bush. The ravenous beasts ate all the grass and wiped all the leaves, but they left you there, up and astute. The elephants trampled the grass in the entire savannah, but they left you there beaming with pride and self worth. I envy you, one who never got to weep, for you have never known the searing burn of the cold. You have never known what it is to break down when you should be strong and to carry the cross. It is of you I think, the only one that the wave left behind, for you never got to stick your head into the fangs of death. You never got to be sucked into the chasm of despair. It is you that I sing in praise of, one with a perennial smile. You have no scars to heal of, and no wounds to tend to. You have no grief to suck the life out of you, and you have no mountain to climb with bleeding fingers. When I ask you about pain, you say “what pain?” when I ask you about sorrow, you ask me, “which cup?” Argh, how lucky you are, man of my age, how lucky... but if you have never known pain, how is it that you do not laugh all the time? How is it that you do not roll down the slopes in glee or jump into the river in reckless abandon? You who never got to weep, why do I never hear your glee puncture the night when it arrives? Why do I not feel the heat when I shake your hand or the allure when I tap your shoulder? You weep not, that is good for you, but is it because sorrow forgot you, or rather because you do not know how? You are a slave, a man walking and living a lie, afraid of being human. You have known dark too, every time you close your eyes. You have known tears too, every time you eat the peppers. Why then should you gloat, that you never got to weep? Why then should you say that you have the heart of a lion? If you conquered the sun, I dare you to conquer the moon. If you conquered the daydream, I dare you to conquer the nightmare. I would love to smile every day, but oh, I would also want to weep when I want. I would love to skip for the most of my life, but then again, I would love to sit under the great rubber tree and reopen the pages of my sorrow. Invite me not to your council, for my tears lay right below my existence. Tell me not something sad, lest the dams break, and I leave you wet with embarrassment. I know I will pay the price, that of not being a man, but you will too. You will pay the price for refusing to embrace the fact that you are human. So for you who never got to weep, be not proud of yourself, for there behind your glee lays a mountain of smoke. Behind your every smile is the sign of an incoming storm, and if you choose to look keenly, you shall know that your tears flow all through the night and in the dark, when you have no other option but that of being yourself.
They left you there, old thorn bush. The ravenous beasts ate all the grass and wiped all the leaves, but they left you there, up and astute. The elephants trampled the grass in the entire savannah, but they left you there beaming with pride and self worth. I envy you, one who never got to weep, for you have never known the searing burn of the cold. You have never known what it is to break down when you should be strong and to carry the cross. It is of you I think, the only one that the wave left behind, for you never got to stick your head into the fangs of death. You never got to be sucked into the chasm of despair. It is you that I sing in praise of, one with a perennial smile. You have no scars to heal of, and no wounds to tend to. You have no grief to suck the life out of you, and you have no mountain to climb with bleeding fingers. When I ask you about pain, you say “what pain?” when I ask you about sorrow, you ask me, “which cup?” Argh, how lucky you are, man of my age, how lucky... but if you have never known pain, how is it that you do not laugh all the time? How is it that you do not roll down the slopes in glee or jump into the river in reckless abandon? You who never got to weep, why do I never hear your glee puncture the night when it arrives? Why do I not feel the heat when I shake your hand or the allure when I tap your shoulder? You weep not, that is good for you, but is it because sorrow forgot you, or rather because you do not know how? You are a slave, a man walking and living a lie, afraid of being human. You have known dark too, every time you close your eyes. You have known tears too, every time you eat the peppers. Why then should you gloat, that you never got to weep? Why then should you say that you have the heart of a lion? If you conquered the sun, I dare you to conquer the moon. If you conquered the daydream, I dare you to conquer the nightmare. I would love to smile every day, but oh, I would also want to weep when I want. I would love to skip for the most of my life, but then again, I would love to sit under the great rubber tree and reopen the pages of my sorrow. Invite me not to your council, for my tears lay right below my existence. Tell me not something sad, lest the dams break, and I leave you wet with embarrassment. I know I will pay the price, that of not being a man, but you will too. You will pay the price for refusing to embrace the fact that you are human. So for you who never got to weep, be not proud of yourself, for there behind your glee lays a mountain of smoke. Behind your every smile is the sign of an incoming storm, and if you choose to look keenly, you shall know that your tears flow all through the night and in the dark, when you have no other option but that of being yourself.
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