Free falling into the bowel of the heart, soul loses all the interests;
Which once meant so much, brought so much joys, now, gone;
Book closed, window shut, lips tight, lamenting.
Where is the inner fire, the sweet romance, the music of a soul?
Gone, away, absent, soul wanders alone like a strayed dog at night fall.
Cigarettes, booze, dancing are not useful; companion flat.
The only thing soul seems arousing some faint interest is a distant call,
The sad notes of piano being played;
Each note, one by one, punctuates into soul’s very core,
Deepens its wounded scars, hurts, but soul prefers
It seems when the wounds are too painful, soul just wants to reach death
A slow numbing death, soul hopes for the absence of any feeling at all
Soul, why do you suffer much? Does anyone care? Does anyone see
Your bitter agony?
They only see your joyous but avoid your sorrowful
For the latter might imply guilt or obligation or might stir their own anguishes
Soul, you can come to me, the Fountain of sweetness
For a cleansing bath, for renewed emotional closeness;
They call me Compassion.
I can lead you out of your misery of perpetuating self-inflicted slumber.
Look around you for existence of human miseries,
That, I am sure, you do not have to travel far to see.
Look at that beggar at the corner,
Wrapped around in tattered cloths resembling clothes,
Smiling with pains of hunger begging for some compassion and kindness.
Soul, you probably wonder why he even bothers
To keep on living in order to keep on begging.
Do you know why that beggar did not give up, did not lie down to wait death?
Because he knows a spark of compassion will eventually come
To lighten up and warm up his soul, even just for a flash moment.
The instant of hope, the moment of love,
Soul, that is exactly what you need to re-lighten your soul-life.
Lift your gloomy face up,
For the Divine Charity stoops down to drop two coins into your basket,
Coins made of most precious gold.
And the generous pierced Hands do appear human, like yours.
(When you feel better, do the same for others, less fortunate.)
Comments about this poem (Depressed Soul by Don Nguyen )
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