”Where’s happy?” she asked the Four Winds,
Digging in the rubble of hurt, lonesomeness, misguided thoughts,
hopelessness and more hurt,
Her fingers bloodied from sharp pricks of the jagged rocks of pain,
despair, mistreatment and more.
The Four Winds kept still in its gentle sway,
And not a peep, did it utter at all.
She hurried left and she scurried right, In a frantic search for happy;
Under plumped pillows and beneath feathered billets;
She languished, seeking happy with anguish.
Across the gin counter and inside many bottles,
”Where’s happy?” She asked, but bottle wouldn’t share its model.
Under the lights, she took to flight;
Strange lips kissed, but happy still missed;
”Where’s happy, Strange lips?” she asked;
Strange lips mumbles and fumbles;
Humbly admits, ”I don’t know and I need happy too!”
Dejected and weary, bloodied to the bone;
A moment of stillness, she maintained in her soul;
“Where’s happy?” She whispered to her soul;
”Right here with you,” little Happy said.
”Right here, where I have always been, my dear.”
”How come you are right here?” She asked in surprise,
”Whilst I ran helter, skelter, looking far and wide,”
”But you were no where to be found!!”
”You looked in the wrong places!” Happy declared.
”And asked the wrong faces,” Happy shook her head.
”I am always here, right within you,”
”If only you will keep still for a moment or two.”
© Jacqueline Oby-Ikocha