Tuesday, 6 September 2011


his suffering is my suffering.
he takes the blows with relish,
looks to his foes
for peace.

his suffering is your suffering.
his gaze gentle,
his compassion vast.
grace is a soft rock
borne in a perfect cast.

our suffering is his suffering.
the to suffer, the
have suffered,
children playing games,
the strong and the lame,
the fickle, short-lived pain.
we do not suffer

the vagabonds, the nomads,
single men
living in vans,
furnished cars beneath stars,
widowers, Mongolian sands....

we do not

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