There is a pain that transcends thinking,
is not limited by understanding,
and refuses to be captured in words.
The soul has a space that embraces anguish,
where sadness is caressed and nurtured,
where grief sprouts beds of blooms.
And when pain, sadness, anguish and grief reaches maturity,
the heart opens up and gushes out its sorrow,
bleeding tears down stricken faces.
It bleeds again and again, over and over,
everyday anew as if for the first time,
until one day, finally, it is cleansed.
On that day the heart's wounds start closing,
It accepts, restores and heals, albeit gradually,
until at last the heart fondly cherishes memories.
