Story of a young boy
"Boys don't cry." they said tenaciously. And I kept wondering skeptically. Asked my mum, "Why do we cry?" "Because our heart is sly! Volitionally hiding its pain underneath. But the emotions we feel couldn't be sheathe. They look for the crevices to get pass by. And find their way through those eyes." I marveled her compassion at the best. I took her arms and put in on my chest. "Listen to my weeping wily heart. Mine, they say, beats like a pathetic wart. Does this mean that I am weak? For the tears, they say, are the sign of defeat." "No, my son. They are all so wrong. For you feel the pain with the heart so strong. You express your pain, wherever it resides. As you will never end up, rotten inside." Today, I weep for those who can't express, Their feelings, their pain, compassion at the best. They keep it all piled up, like a stagnant river Where fishes die and love seems to quiver. Express it...