You’re the second man,
In 25 years,
Dripping salt from eyes,
In front of my eyes.

Sure, it’s salt when it touches,
The brink of one’s lips.
But, it’s a mix of spice,
The spice of squeezed life.

It’s a question of what next?
What to accomplish next?
It’s an answer to what next.
With bread & butter going stale.
With love & romance going pale.
With breaths and smiles still going on,
Tears is another part & parcel, from now on.

With no hopes but one hope. (and one dope for sure!)
To keep walking, helplessly.
To keep loving, hopelessly.

You’re the second man,
In 25 years,
I’ve seen with a trembling chin,
That I wish I could console with my comforting shin.

Sure, it’s aching to witness,
The shivering friend.
But, it’s the bag of sweet & sour candies,
The Santa (of life) offers.

It’s a question of conditioning?
Of why a man’s cries are suppressed?
It’s an answer to the conditioning.
Fuck yes, men can cry rivers.
With so much bottling up.
With so many people to answer.
With why to be answerable at all.
How & When & Why & Who gendered the tears.

I wish to see more men (individuals) cry,
Be vulnerable and open up.
Be a being.
A blossoming being.

-uk