Empathy

The grief of others

Is a pebble 

you chance upon

On your walk in the park

Under the cherry blossoms

Smooth and worn

And glistening softly

In dew,

or tears,

quiet and irrelevant 

Until you pick it up

when it turns into

a minor asteroid

Crushing your hand

and heart

And yet, as you hold

that molten lump

burning a stranger’s

soul shape

Into yours,

you wonder ...

how long could you bear

this bottomless thimble

of painful synonyms

brimming with

searing, burning, 

withering, sweltering, 

scorching, blistering,

exquisite agony  

To see if it wilts,

and droops,

and stains

your soul with

self-inflicted,

guilt-ridden,

yet carefully titrated 

Empathy

Until Selfishness 

kicks in and you toss

that impertinent stone

back into the undergrowth

What difference does it make

to know the name of the child

lying face down on that beach?

Or the limbless dreams 

drowning in sunken eyes 

in a land far far away?

(Now available in 4K Ultra)

What difference does it make

when a man in his twenties

tells you in a matter-of-fact tone

(his pain thankfully contained 

behind his mask),

now that his wife is dying

he does not have 

a Home anymore?

Let me pause -

an irreverent moment 

To drown another rock

In a deep dark pool

Somewhere only I know

To join that other one

Still whispering in my ear

After a decade 

A teenage daughter’s 

Question gone begging

‘Who will walk me 

down the aisle now,

Doc?’

The grief of others

is the promise of tears

that never break free

Ominous shadows 

under the waves

around your 

Paradise Island

that you choose 

not to see