What does it take to turn mourning to dancing?
Though the whispers of fate and even the Angel of Death
Tell us to stay a while.
To reject words of consolation for the heaviness of our sorrow.
Though they would have us look away from ourselves and all life,
We face the dark.
And somewhere, a prism of light forms.
We can barely make it out.
But when our vision and we, too, are ready
We see it as bright as day:
And though we stand up and sit down,
Agonize over what we are able to do and not do,
Will lead us to give up the grief and ignite our dry bones.