Tired of the hidden pain

“Tired of the hidden pain”

That was what she wrote in the note,

Her last note, without saying good bye.

She had been to church the previous night,

She smiled and danced,

And we all believed those actions.

We never could have guessed she was in pain,

She was active in three societies in the church;

She was the light amidst darkness.

I guess that’s why no one ever thought to ask how she was.

Whenever she was greeted,

Her smile would be so radiant,

That one wouldn’t think to ask further how she is

The smile said it all.

But now,

We know how much a smile can hide.

They found her body in the early afternoon of Easter Sunday,

In the bath tub;

Bathtub filled with a mixture of blood and water

– Like what gushed out of Jesus’ side
She was soaked in it,

Wearing her Sunday best,

-the outfit she wore to the vigil mass.

It is concluded that she committed the act when she returned.

No one would have found her if her neighbour hadn’t thought to give her a hot Easter meal.

During the vigil mass,

She had flaunted her beautiful dress in a modest way,

She danced and clapped during the thanksgiving.

She had laughed and smiled like she meant it.

She had fooled us all.

Or we had fooled ourselves.

Now her grief has gone beyond the grave,

And our little light has been snatched away from us,

By the hands of this mystery pain.

Till today, no one knows what pain she was talking about.

Nobody ever asked.

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