Sunday, April 8, 2012


There is this beautiful poem by Naomi Shihab Nye on kindness. It's so beautiful that no matter what happens, once I read these soulful lines, everything becomes easy to forgive and forget.

" Before you know what kindness really is
you must lose things,
feel the future dissolve in a moment
like salt in a weakened broth.
What you held in your hand,
what you counted and carefully saved,
all this must go so you know
how desolate the landscape can be
between the regions of kindness. "

Life, in its basic essence, is harsh and cruel. Unstoppable and irrevocable. Idiotic and irritating. A fake and a thief. It wrecks you, it imprisons you, it hurts you, and never tires. It frightens you, it disillusions you, it lifts you up and throws you down.

It takes away everything you have always held dear. It will take away your future, it has already marred your past. Your present is under its senseless mercy. All those beautiful flowers on the tree are soon going to fall down and disappear. The sun is going to set no matter what. Life has no mercy. Life has no treasure.

What life does have, however, amidst all the rubbish are those regions of kindness that the poetess describes. Those tiny, innocent, selfless moments of kindness. It is kindness perhaps, of all the virtues, that gives life a hopeful face. Kindness is the only saving grace.

Thank god for the small mercies :)


1 comment:

Carole said...

Nice blog. You might like this Wordsworth quote about little acts of kindness. Acts of Kindness