Noonday Sun
Noonday Sun
Suffering, so much suffering astounds,
Suffering brings us to our very knees,
And cries out to us in sleepless nights,
In the morning, fatigued and wrenched,
Begging for a reprieve from the day,
The sun is blocked by the sound of our own doubt,
“Where is the end of all this?”
“To what end is this, Lord Buddha?”
And he points to the clouds,
And says, “Wait”
And in that moments waiting,
We think to our children,
And we look to their faces, smiling faces though still starving in tattered rags,
And we understand, that there is a brighter day for them,
For someone made the Sun I tell you,
For someone made the Sun,
And as the Son heats the clouds,
We feel the wind on our heat scorched faces,
And we say, “Allah, what is the meaning of this?”
And she says, “Wait!”
And in that moments waiting,
We think of Mother Jones pleading for her people as she speaks truth to power.
And as droplets of rain begin to fall into our sordid subconscious,
We begin to grasp the nature of a Grace that suffers with us,
And as droplets of rain begin to fall into our sordid subconscious,
We look to each other,
And feel the warmth of a Noonday sun.
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