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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=459916" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Whose tears?</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">I don’t cry. Not <br>floods of tears cry.<br>The eyes moisten, but, <br>It’s the rest of it…: <br>the chest heaves unsuppressibly, as if<br>it would leap out from the body's confines...<br>it’s all beyond control; <br>‘sob’ isn’t the right word<br>because it’s all silent.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">It never used to be like this; <br>now – well, I’m too embarrassed<br>to tell you everything<br>that sets it off.. just think ‘sentimental’…<br>except that it’s quite without those personal thoughts<br>like, what a cute puppy, <br>I can feel for her, <br>how I’d be proud to be him right now…</div><div style="margin:10px 0">athletes of any sport or any nation<br>ascending the podium while<br>their strange national anthem plays…<br>and it’s a sure bet; </div><div style="margin:10px 0">anyone who fulfils themselves, <br>achieves something which<br>makes them clearly proud…</div><div style="margin:10px 0">triumph over adversity, over handicap; <br>the Paralympics - have you noticed, <br>they're the most quietly satisfied of winners? </div><div style="margin:10px 0">the shining eye of<br>someone who's given from the heart...<br>or someone who's received that gift...</div><div style="margin:10px 0">sometimes the perfection of<br>a sung phrase, its subtle timing, <br>the emotion kernelled in a single note…</div><div style="margin:10px 0">the first notes of those hymns they sing<br>when heroes finally are laid to rest…</div><div style="margin:10px 0">or a convincing love story –<br>no, I won’t give you the names –</div><div style="margin:10px 0">or a moment of some unexpected truth<br>which speaks of something far beyond…</div><div style="margin:10px 0">even a silence, an unfocussed presence<br>that holds some revelation yet<br>unformulated; only recognised..</div><div style="margin:10px 0">I have this strange, beloved stranger<br>in my shaking chest, </div><div style="margin:10px 0">a law unto itself, which doesn’t<br>ask for my consent before<br>the convulsions start…</div><div style="margin:10px 0">in a way, it’s quite reassuring: <br>something within me, announcing<br>its independent life; </div><div style="margin:10px 0">something capable of being stirred; <br>and when it stops its heaving, <br>here’s the best part: then, it’s gone –<br>no thought to smear the mind, <br>no mood to coddle or indulge..<br>it came; it went; so pure, so clean; </div><div style="margin:10px 0">best to give it no attention, <br>let it live its life without my interference; <br>it’s asking nothing of me but<br>to love its freedom; watch it be itself.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Michael+Shepherd">Michael Shepherd</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=459916" data-title="Whose tears? de Michael Shepherd" data-description="I don’t cry. Not 
floods of tears cry.
The eyes moisten, but, 
It’s the rest of it…: 
the chest heaves unsuppressibly, as if
it would leap out from the body's confines...
it’s all beyond control; 
‘sob’ isn’t the right word
because i..."></div>
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