I ran during the quarantine, stayed home,
rested, slept, woke up, ate, and ran some more,
and, of course, as I lay in bed, I wrote
nonsense poems no one would ever read,
despite the fact I tried to be honest,
under the layers was still more onion,
reminders that I was always in tears,
if I shed them in public or private,
no matter if my face was dry, the tears
gave me no rest, they appeared in my dreams,
tears are a metaphor for suffering,
however, we all suffer in this world,
each individual makes up a tear,
questioned by the authorities, my tears
unleashed a flood, billions upon billions,
a deluge for each person who suffers,
riddled by leaders who know no better,
asked so many questions about the tears,
no one said I shouldn't cry for others,
try as I might, I could not stop crying,
in time, I learned how to sob silently,
no one could tell how much pain I was in,
even if they could, they could not help me,
simply left alone, no one ever knew,
tranquil my face became solid like stone,
as I sat in meditation, the tears
yearned to fall, to tumble down my hard face,
every tear lost was for humanity,
dead souls, still alive, work themselves to death,
humanity could not cry for itself,
only the leaders knew how start wars,
maybe that was their way to win the war,
even if they could not cry, they shed tears.
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