Wounded Soul – by Philip Gan C.K
Raging tempest afflicts the wounded soul,
From deep within it lashes out in fury –
In agony, the man lies low,
Torn between its inherent duty,
“What is left of my wounded soul?”
“Where shall I seek another?”
Like the sweeping darkness,-
It swallows him whole,
All that’s left is wretchedness,
All that remain is but a hole,
Is the being of the man –
Hopes, wishes and dreams surrendered,
To Destiny’s fateful hand.
This was written in the space of 30 minutes following a 45 minute telling off by mommy dearest to shape up or ship out. If you’re sensitive enough, you’d feel the hurt, the frustrations, the overbearing sense of uselessness (is there even such a word?). She has never ever tried to understand the position I am in, to take time to listen to my hopes and dreams. All she ever does to talk down on me, making comparisons with my other more “successful” relatives.
How can I explain to her when she doesn’t…won’t even want to understand? My passion lies in writing. It is what I always love to do, to compensate my lack of extroverted, public speaking ability. A steady, stable “safe” job is what she’d like me to have. I am really, really “torn asunder” so to speak. If this is how she sees me… it certainly “wounds my soul” that she doesn’t lend support to her only son.