It’s not a wound, no, it’s not! It does not pain anymore;
neither do the nerves ache…Nerves that run beneath that skin. The skin has
creased somewhat from there, yeah. And then, thinking of it does not give
tears, it gives a smile. No, it’s not a wound…Anymore
It has been some time now, a few years… sometimes it weeps,
though… when it rains, or may be seeing the sun set…perhaps. It has no words left
to be said to anyone, it pretends to be content.
Such pretentiousness, that lies so loudly!
But wounds are so open, self exhibiting. So…no it’s
not a wound.
It doesn’t like the touch of a
flower, now. And the dew drop stays there for a while before slipping. The creasy
skin was smooth once… though, it doesn’t bleed now. No, it’s not a wound.
Velvet clothes cover it and it
breathes under them… sighs, mourns and smiles under there…it doesn’t breathe
the air. But the perfume on them is
good… So, no, it’s not a wound!
And then, on those rare times,
when she uncovers it, she softly kisses it, caresses it and covers it back
quickly…is it precious like some memory!? She should let it heal then and time
shall take care of the rest…but she says it’s not a wound… ‘Cause it does not
pain; neither do the nerves ache.
So! No, it’s not a wound…!
It shall never pain.