Not even in forty degrees
of blazing Asian sun
did I meet a single peasant
who, full of self doubt,
couldn’t see the point of
planting her rice.
I never heard
one murmured threat
of suicide,
not even from
the young boys
chained to the looms
where our exquisite
carpets are made.
There’s no chit-chat
about bi-polar disorders
amongst the porters
who carry more than
their body weight
sixteen hours a day.
There’s no time
to go rummaging
in the dusty back rooms
of the psyche:
no time
for anything more
than just surviving.
So count yourself lucky, my friend!
Your depression is, without doubt,
the sweetest of luxuries.
Dee Sunshine