If suffering, its persistence
is a mystery
then so is joy.
Walking at dawn I found its music
drenching me utterly,
and couldn’t convey
more than a trace of it,
a man with headphones, stepping out a subway
leaping with a laugh in the air.
Whoever grew wise without sorrow?
unless they trusted enough to bleed?
And who understood
till they’d shivered in fright at their ignorance?
smoking off the bumpers of parked cars
from time to momentary time
Chris Zithulele Mann
YOUR FAVOURITE POEM
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