He wonders if healing equates forgetting
if happiness is sitting cross-legged with a prism of suns to blind that blotch.
He smiles as the thundering storm settles on his chest
When the pain stops hurting, it sleeps discreet
He wonders if moving is the plateau of the spotless mind
if honour is erasure of the wounded truth.
He smiles to quieten the afflictive howl.
When the pain starts laughing, it conquers defeat