H. 3, 12 (Crimson Sky)

You see the still face in peace;

The body lying on the bed.

You wipe his hands and say a prayer

And you tell yourself, “I’ll remember you… ”

The wounded always find the wounded

The void just waiting to be filled,

The moments just needing to be framed,

And some words waiting to caress the soul.

Those deep blue eyes sparkled,

Reddened face and drops of tears,

Lonely park and the corner bench

Where someone sat beside,

And the evening that refused to fade

Under that sad crimson sky.

Pain knows pain, but who will carry your heart?

You may cry while I am there

But nothing changes, not even time.

I have only questions for your questions

And my hands to hold yours.

Some things you and I will never know.

Yet, the wounded always find the wounded.

It’s the only thing I’ll ever know.

© Rajkumar Panthoiren

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