Strange Is Better
Photo by Adam Winger on Unsplash

Strange is better than ludicrousness, the latter

Than reason, a liquid mind that’s a wan matter,

Dreary on good days. All days are good with surplus

Unless you can prove any sun ray as worthless.

You’re grumbling something; what’s your tension?

About the desert? That’s a brave question.

Ask again when you have the number of its sand grains,

Instead of thronging it all up and your disdains

In a six-letter word. Those braver will argue,

It’s one because we’re on a giant rock of dark hue,

Revolving about the sun which has eroded away

Over a sustained period. The bravest will say,

It is nothing, and their anguish ends there,

And the generosity of everything begins its share.

It’s why all that’s beautiful is married to simpleness,

And the ground opens its arms to hide our vileness.

Your buts to this it’s why strife and its siblings,

Root deeper within this life, leading austere lives;

The chip that breaks the teacup all by itself:

You keep suspecting everyone but yourself.
['Wanjiku Wanjiru']
['Poetry', 'Poetry Sunday', 'Poem', 'Blm381', 'Poetry On Medium']