Pain, Prayer, Poetry
It hurts in too many places to name properly And somehow between the ache and the silence words start forming As if the body is trying to explain itself to an invisible unavailable audience.. As if the night itself has leaned close to listen As if every nerve is a small lamp flickering for a presence it remembers. The pain keeps knocking from within.. not to be cured, but to be known. Like a river in the dark, searching for the sea it has never seen yet cannot forget. What language does the body speak when no one is there to answer? It trembles, burns and calls softly like a prayer that does not know who it is meant for and still rises. Somewhere the sky is opening its quiet blue wounds Somewhere the wind is carrying a name it will never reach And here in this small, aching body, a universe gathers at the edge of tears Waiting not for answers just for arms that feel like home. And until then the pain will keep turning into words.. and the words into a kind of love.. that has...