If we were to talk about pain

If we were to talk about pain
we would have to do it
in different ways
because there is more
than one norm
to define it.

If we were to watch the affection
a grandson has
for his grandfather
it is not the same feeling
when seeing him die
as when the father
of that grandson
run the steps of his defuntion.

If we were to talk about pain,
that mother pain,
when seeing a son
in vice
cannot sleep,
it is not the same pain
that very son feels
when, sometimes, feels
like not living any more.

We could see it
at work
when someone is fired,
the pain for injustice
is more
among the coworkers
than in the one who leaves,
yet it is not the same pain
that a father feels
when his son leaves
at a young age.

If we were to talk about pain
we would have to feel it
flowing
in our own
veins
to know
with feelings
what it
really means.

'Cause when talking about pain,
more than knowledge,
there is the feeling
of a broken heart,
a heart that beats
just for the hope
that one day the bonanza
dropped insite itself.

We could take it
to the physical,
as an explanation
for crying,
because it is nothing
but the breaking
what causes us
great fear,
what moves us
to be cinic
and not to admit the punch,
that hurts us so much
that we cannot
notice.
Yet the body does not know
how to lie,
and our eyes,
the windows
of our souls,
can see how
we cry inside,
and then,
when we could not resist it
it will throw us tears
and have us sing with a broken voice.

So there are many
kinds of pain,
so much
we couldn't finish
The pain of war,
The one caused
by the abuse of power
The pain of the land
when it doesn't see
its plants flourish
The pain of the animals
suffered, sometimes, by men as well
A baby's pain
when it cries
as his mother
abandons it
in the trash
If we were to talk about pain
maybe,
we could start loving each other.