Be the thorn to trouble, by Tom Mukasa

Be the thorn to trouble

Trouble ruins and is siccative,
a lethargy, emptiness and uselessness,
that is what trouble enjoys,
trouble is what it is,
trouble does what it is,
comfort is constricting,
sweetness becomes bitter,
dexterity and confidence evaporate,
no longer a go-to,
you become a laughing-stock,
the path to your home,
gets bushy and un-tended,
from a pillar of repute to pariah,
fears become ever-present,
loneliness and desolation your companion,
until one by one you fight back,
first you peel away one layer,
from the troubled onion,
your eyes water,
sob, sob, sob,
like the person we read about,
whose name is Job,
all sick, wounded and soiled,
abandoned, provoked, taunted and ridiculed,
his ribs standing out like fingers,
like reeds around a corral,
his loins shriveled,
but lo! In a blink all was gone!
his once sunken eyes, revived,
his riches, livestock, health, security, sanity,
were so many folds restored,
in the same book is another we read,
he renounced haters and back-stabbers,
he warned, cautioned,
oh! He continued,
he shouted, 
spoke noisily,
sang sweetly,
never stopped begging,
never stopped being livid,
every time he faced the Divine,
the once troubled songster,
became the liveried King David,
if trouble bumps into you,
be the thorn to trouble,
do something on the double,
bundle all burdens,
make a web around it,
for that is what Mahomet the Arabian Prophet did.


 

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