I am Joy

I met her often, sitting by the roadside

Sometimes just walking around

aimlessly.

She looked quite dishevelled,

Yet her air was carefree

Her clothes had a, had been look

Yet her gait was strong and light

Intentional.

She held something in her hands,

that I could not see.

She had a different look on her face.

Not Happy. Not Sad – And yet, not indifferent.

She was contently, just sitting there

Watching the world and cars go by.

Sometimes waiting, at the signal next to her

The expensing cars, and fancy clothed people

She saw them – They didn’t see her.

I got curious, got closer

She did not react much

In different clothes she would be a Zen master

Clothes do maketh a man/woman after all,

I smile at my humour.

‘What are you holding’, I asked,

‘Hope’ she said, with a smile.

Delicately opening her cupped palms.

‘Who are you’, I could not help but ask

Joy she said, without being Coy.

I am Joy.

“Are you happy ?”,  I ask tentatively.

“AND grateful”, she says.

Most days, she adds, as an after thought.

Most days you are grateful?, I implore

She pauses, looks at me

And Says..

No,

Most days, I am happy

Sometimes I am Sad

Often, I am grateful

But ALL days,

I am  Joy.

I leave

with some of that “Hope”

rubbed off on me.