Another week, and yet more horror and violence – a terror attack in New Orleans, continuing bombardment and starvation in Gaza, and the list goes on. Sometimes I turn to poetry in moments like these, when it feels like our hearts are being asked to hold too much. So, as my offering as we enter into Shabbat, a poem by the Nigerian-British writer, Ben Okri:
An African Elegy
We are the miracles that God made
To taste the bitter fruit of Time.
We are precious.
And one day our suffering
Will turn into the wonders of the earth.
There are things that burn me now
Which turn golden when I am happy.
Do you see the mystery of our pain?
That we bear poverty
And are able to sing and dream sweet things
And that we never curse the air when it is warm
Or the fruit when it tastes so good
Or the lights that bounce gently on the waters?
We bless things even in our pain.
We bless them in silence.
That is why our music is so sweet.
It makes the air remember.
There are secret miracles at work
That only Time will bring forth.
I too have heard the dead singing.
And they tell me that
This life is good
They tell me to live it gently
With fire, and always with hope.
There is wonder here
And there is surprise
In everything the unseen moves.
The ocean is full of songs.
The sky is not an enemy.
Destiny is our friend.
With blessings for surprise, for miracles, for fire and gentleness and hope.
