{Dedicated to all who think themselves strong}

It is the same feeling
the same sentiment,
that has returned,
years and years after,
and the heart is filled
with the same pain.

Nameless sorrows
of chidlhood
coming back,
when the bitter age of maturity
supposedly rids you
of preposterous
inexplicable sadness.

Trivial incidents,
hurt you,
colouring again
old bruises.

The knife turns
again and again,
in the same bleeding wound
which you had thought
cured and gone forever.