Struggling to write a happy poem

So I wanted to write a happy poem.
I’d make it all cheerful and smiley.
But there was a catch,
what would I write about?

I thought of the things that make me happy.

Relishing a mango, its luscious yellow flesh squishing between my fingers?
Nah, that would be too shallow.

How about reading Murakami?
Perhaps this would work.
I picked up The Elephant Vanishes,
and with every page turned, my happiness vanished too,
morphing first into intrigue,
then bewilderment.

Maybe, I was approaching this all wrong.
A happy poem would have to talk about some profound joy.
Yea, I understand now.
Profound joy.
Oh so difficult to grasp.

Just like writing a happy poem.

100 Days of Happy Poems, Poem 6


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