Here is Song

In the thickness of grief, like clouds,
I found a song whose rhythm is like an icing to a cloud.
There are more, sharing your space with you.
But first, empty your body of pain, open it
into a room of playful things.
Become like a kid entering its toy park,
like a masquerade dancing in the village square,
like the earth welcoming the remains of mortality.

It has been here, a song.
But blindness pangs the eyes:
grief won’t allow you to sight beautiful things –
it knows you won’t die more than you’ve been killed.
A taste of this song would heal you into a divinity.

On occasions, my body slips into darkness.
I feel there should be songs to encrypt fear
into the body of what hunts me, a demon
whose home is the carcass of night,
calling our names – me, you
and even others unknown to us,
those whose vulnerability bar is always bloody.

There is song everywhere, in every thing,
even the sadness solitude gives you
hides millions of joyful songs in its feathers.
Here is how to make the song into a soother:
Listen – listen to things around you:
poems, birds, nature, chirping,
the clattering of spoon and dish,
and echo these words as chorus:
hope, healing, resurrection and blessings.