Agathokakological Poem by Mycho Jamil

It was a white Summer's day
when I caught a glimpse
of a father and his son.
As they walked together with
such vibrant smiles,
they stopped by a garden patch.

"Son, among these garden of flowers,
which one of them would you pick? "
the father asked, looming over the patch.
"The prettiest of them all, Father.
The ugly ones are undesirable, "
said the son, reaching for a dahlia.

"A reasonable choice, it would seem.
But if I get to choose between the two,
I would pick the ugly ones, " said the father with a smile.
"But why, may I ask, Father? " pondered the son.
With such somber eyes, the father knelt
to pick a nigella from the patch.

"To brew the best coffee,
one must pick out the bad beans
from the good ones. In other words,
I despise the thought of an ugly flower,
lurking amidst the beautiful ones, "
said the father as they began to leave.

Lost and aghast, I broke a sorrowful smile.
Rather than being impressed by their ideals,
all I felt towards them was utter pity.
Why does one have to ‘pick‘,
when there is a choice not to choose?
Sonder is such a bizarre feeling.

We are simply like this garden,
composed of the ‘good‘ and the ‘bad‘.
There is no picking between the two,
for one cannot exist without the other.

But now the father is long dead;
his life, stolen by his son's ideal.
I thought of him as beautiful
like that dahlia from the patch.

That's right— he was my father.
I ‘picked‘ him.