Sadness is a door that opens
Into nothingness; a noun, a state
Of being. It exists in the absence of
Joy. It is a room
Full of lights with the switch turned off.
Sometimes, the descent into darkness
Is a jarring moment of sudden realization
With silence so loud, it blinds. The memory
Of pain becomes a kaleidoscopic image behind
Tightly shut eyes, that torments in bright colors;
It’s flashing light inducing seizures.
Sadness is an eclipse;
A drought – that causes
Everything to wither, nothing
Grows. In its intensity a man’s
Shadow shrinks into a tiny black
Speck on sun caked sand.
It’s a cold cloak in winter;
The beautiful white snow flakes
That beguiles, masquerading its
Lethality with silvery lustre.
Sadness is a harvest of stones;
It contorts the blade of the hoe
Jars your soul with every clash
Of iron and granite.
It is the dagger stuck under
Your left fifth rib, dripping blood
That gathers into a pool in the spot
Where you will lie buried
Sadness is the flood filling your
Lungs, chasing out air, replacing
Life with liquid death
It is the water that bathes your cells
In hypotonicity; you swell, you burst
And you cease to be.
Sadness is the rubble,
The remains of your charred soul
The debris left behind when hope
Comes crashing down with a loud
Thud. And all you see are dreams
That never will be.
First published in Kalahari review