Sadness, you come in
the most god-awful
moments to strike me
with your sentiment
of doom and melancholy,
and I struggle with
you like Jacob
wrestling with the angel.
I spurn your sober counsel
and tell myself that
I have to be happy,
I have to be serene,
I have to accept it all
with a grimace
and a smile.
It is wisdom,
after all,
or that’s what
all the sages,
modern and ancient,
say: being happy
is the most important
prize in this
torn and fragile life.
But in the struggle you
whisper quietly in
my soul,
not words of comfort
or words of inspiration
written in disposable
self-help books
but words that
echo from the travail
of humankind.
You say,
“In your wrestling with
me find all that matters,
all that makes you human,
all that forms who you are.”
28/4/2016