Sorrow

Its better not to write on Sorrow.
When I was young I thought sorrow was the naked pregnant prostitute in a Van gogh
That sorrow was like a song that wafted from afar
About unrequited love
About a nothingness in our lives
That sorrow of silences .
But today sorrow has the hues of the settling dust
A hint of betrayal
The smell of death
The bite of the cold night air when there’s no roof to call your own
Sorrow is the language of misfortune
That talks to you from the dry eyes of a mother
When her children lie buried in rubble that was once shelter.
Sorrow is the memory of a happy yesterday
And the waste around one now.

They say that the soul of the world is one.
That it lives in us.
Then this sorrow is ours too.
And if we truly Listen to the sacred silence within us
We’ll know that we are looking into our very own eyes
And the dead are ours
This sorrow. ours.

Universal soul?
I don’t know for sure. But some have felt it.
They say you become very brave afterwards.
You can stare at death’s face calmly.
makes life is pretty simple .
and I am sure they know what it is to be happy.

-nonick (In support of the call made by desipundit.com)

P.S: Posted by smiley in support of nonick's response to the
call made by desipundit.com and in support of the call made
by desipundit.com