honey in a gray day

the diurnal calm and then the peril

angst and pain then soothing in its wane
warming embraces makes feral the day
pushing toward the edge of insane

like stubbing a toe as most have done

we elevate it placing a bag of ice
the throbbing subsides but not before
spontaneous cursing comes once or thrice

the stubbing is a metaphor to the

challenges of the day that we face
but small in comparison to those
who must run in life’s real race

Pablo Neruda said ’…the journeys go and

come between honey and pain…’
but I’m reminded of those who
are condemned to days where never
is it sunny only the stormy rain

like the mother in Afghanistan

wailing out her cry of where she
had to barter her daughter for food
so her other children would not be
left unfed to die

of watching her husband’s beheading

the burning of their home the tearing
of her body in front of her son by Taliban
and raping of her daughter by more
than one

so in the challenging moments of the day

seemingly filling the sky in clouds of gray
think of the land where birds no longer sing
no longer fly, the only thing heard are
a wailing mother’s cry

 *written for Kerry O'Connor's challenge in Imaginary garden to
   a day of honey and not the sting