The Sweetest Regeneration of Joy

my friends who far too early
lost your candour
before writing this I’ll have tiptoed around in circles 
a long time
I’ll have played and replayed your stories in my head 
hundreds of times
I know your words almost by heart and I remember
your eyes too
and your untranquil gestures
I know it’s hard for you to find relief and it’s not
for me to tell you to make peace with the past
even if I know that’s the thing to do it’s not for me
to tell you
I don’t have the right to tell you about the pain I don’t have the
right to tell you about the shame nor the fear
it’s out of the question for me to try to transcribe your sorrow, out of
the question to act as if it’s mine
I won’t speak for you it’s just not
possible
it would be out of line
I’ll not let poetry sublimate 
the most abominable thing, the worst of our stories
I’ll not make pretty pictures of what still haunts you
at night
15 years
20 years
40 years later
my friends who far too early
lost your candour
it’s not for me to stick my fingers in your dislocated souls to
try to repair things
I won’t use the word forgiveness
I don’t know what I really think of that word anyway
my friends who far too early
lost your candour
I find you all very brave
and your sad stories make me feel quite small but there is
one thing
I feel like telling you about there’s 
one thing
I feel I can write here I feel like
telling you of joy of the survival of joy
childhood will take the time it needs to clear as many
paths as possible toward joy
we need tons
we need huge reserves
we need to trace as many lines as possible between ourselves and joy to make sure there is
always a way out
somewhere
that leads to ecstasy and
delight
childhood is not infinitely repairable and when it’s
not pretty
when it’s ruined too soon
we spend the rest of our lives picking up the pieces 
of all the broken things that keep breaking over and over
I know what that is, a childhood shattered into many little shards
that don’t fit together
we become men and women with tiny clumsy
hands
that can’t manage to hold our hesitant existences in place
I know but
my friends who far too early
lost your candour
joy is a wild cat often
an animal hidden somewhere that we might sometimes
spend a lot of time searching for but joy has more than
one life
joy has more than one life joy has more than
one life it has more than one life it
has more than one life it
has more than one death more than one chance
joy is a cat
that comes back to life as often as it has to as often
as it has to
the world didn’t take good enough care of your joy I know
so today imagine these words are resonating in a huge
stadium
imagine zillions of us singing your names to 
celebrate your resistance
and the less you’re silent the less we’ll be too
and the less we are the less 
you’ll be
one day all will be said and then
only then maybe
it will be the right time to utter the word forgiveness for now
speak
we hear you
joy is born much more in words than in
silence
words are a sign of freedom and freedom is
a source of joy so speak my friends
speak
we hear you I’m writing it here
speak we hear you
imagine these words are tearing toward you like a horde of noisy
children
palms full of wild berries
their legs are scratched by thorns but their faces 
and hearts are smiling
imagine these words are a big splash of golden champagne we’re
drinking to the sweet
the sweetest regeneration of joy
as there are flowers we plant and those that grow
instinctively
there is also the joy we create and that which 
springs naturally
imagine then that these words are huge bouquets that never 
stop blooming
like all these gardens we grow in honour of
those who have suffered
imagine these words are indigenous plants clinging 
inside your deepest crevices
imagine they keep your flesh together so nothing
gives way anymore
neither day
nor night when other bodies touch you my friends who
far too early
lost your candour
never will I dare to speak to you of pain I don’t know how
to talk about
not to you anyway
so I speak to you here of joy
of joy, instead
because I know that contrary to candour when it erodes
it’s never irreversible what we
sometimes lack
is the road that leads us back to it so
finally
imagine these words like unhoped for fireworks that
shout welcome home
imagine billions of little phosphorescent paths 
appearing and leading you to inhabitable
houses
and home wasn’t suffering home
wasn’t shame our home wasn’t
silence your home is right here
we’ll make room for your stories your stories
are devastating
but your stories aren’t shameful we’re not talking
about shame here
it’s not about shame nor silence nor fear
it’s about the sweet the ever so sweet
the sweetest regeneration
of joy