It is such a sad thing to know how people have romanticised pain and suffering. Pain is pain, it is intransigent, unavoidable an insidious. There can be nothing rosy and perky about it. Poetry is inspired from pain or so they say but pain is not poetry, it can never be. And you know why? Because there is nothing beautiful about Pain and suffering. You cannot embellish it with eloquence and make it look like isn’t that bad. Pain has forms that can break the very foundation of your being. It can bleakly damage your soul and strip you off all the sanity and serenity that’s left within you. And if you believe that there’s something good about pain which could be romanticised and presented like a gordon of a merry picture, remember, it won’t seem that rosy and merry when it comes to you.
Have you ever tried talking to a refugee from Syria who lost his home, his family, his friends and all his money? Does it look like he would appreciate if you would just present his agony through a lesser brutal phrase of eloquence? Nope. Not at all.
And death? Death is death. You lose someone forever and there’s nothing good or beautiful about a loss. Life is brutal but death is the dead end. Everything ceases with their departure. It is not romantic. It is painful, it makes you feeble and helpless and what not. Separation can never be beautiful, never at all.
There is nothing romantic about pain. I repeat, nothing romantic about pain.