The Pursuit of Happyness

The Pursuit of Happyness

On a quiet cobblestone street, where summer smells of clotted‑cream
and the amber‑tinted sky of a late‑afternoon, I set out for a dream.
Not with the grandiose umbrella of fame or the flash of a flash‑light,
but with a simple map – a line that cuts through heart‑heavy night.

We sing it in the alleys of the city, in the quiet lanes of the suburbs,
in every cracked footpath where the iron railings swerve like bustling birds.
The pursuit is not a chase; it’s an waltz on drafted tracks,
one foot‑step forward, the other waiting for the missing lock.

I met a street‑wise chemist near a market stall,
whose old spectacles glinted as he spoke of “happyness” he’d known for ages:
“Take one cup of jam, a spoon of kindness, a dash of courage, stir.
Life will brew itself, if you let the kettle gently simmer.”

In the heart of a red‑brick school, the teacher in his tweed hat,
whispered that the pursuit is a “goalpost” behind the classroom’s cat.
He measured aims with medals, but in the race he taught us –
to run 'til the end when we find a friend’s warm foot.

The road is busy, the footpaths slick with city rain,
but beyond every puddle, there grows a chance for gain.
A note that “smile tends to broadcast” like a triumphant spell,
the way the London fog unfurls and reveals a starry well.

And in the quiet twilight, after the evening bus,
I write this poem with a pen keeps it raw, but hopeful:
To chase the lightthick in a world that makes us pause,
and sometimes show that happiness is found simply because we choose.

Where the freedom of a blue‑crowned worm tolerates a short, bright moment,
I know that the pursuit endures as an answer to this question:
— What makes us content a little lighter if we soft‑heard?
The choir of our heart, humming, “we’re chasing happyness,” and that’s the word.