Kindness

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 :)

Gargi

Sojourn

The little bud hangs on safely to the stem
blooms into a pretty flower continues to hold tight
only to be plucked and thrown apart by the wind's might.

The steely spider doesn't lose hope
builds and rebuilds its dainty little home
only to be brought down once again by an angry broom.

The misty morning dew arrives as poetic as eternity
with little else in our innocent immediate sight
only to be rendered non existent, the sun makes it evanescent.

Temporary joys. Temporary riches. Temporary people. Temporary lives.

Gargi

:/

Oh why!
are these books so temporary
these pages painfully few
words ending before they start.
Just when I slowly begin to fall in love
with the proud protagonist in Paris..
just when I begin to live the story
the last page arrives in all its glory
Oh why!

Can't they write a mind bogglingly nice but never ending book :/

Gargi

The object

Its nice to let your imagination run free,
when you know not what the story can be.
when you know not if the story should be.
when all you know is an object of glee.

Will the object roar in dreamy delight?
when the rain suddenly stops the sun and its might.
Will the object flash a tiny rare twinkle in the eye ?
when the rainbow surfaces, as surreal as the smile.

Does the object like these worrisome windy nights?
or does it prefer those mild mornings with kites?
Does the object need a blessed blanket to sleep?
or does it suffice to have a warm pillow to keep?

Perhaps it likes the wet grassy lands
or wait - perhaps the dry silvery sand?
Perhaps it leads a peacefully pretty life
or wait - perhaps it rejoices life's adventures alike?

The story has infinite and more possibility
or wait - perhaps just the one and only?
The story might or might never be
but isn't it nice to let your imagination run free?

Gargi

Those 3

A little kindness in a stranger's strife,
got me my best friend for life.
A little curiosity in those childhood days,
saved me from dangers of the grown up ways.
A little courage under the clouds of adversity,
took me to the horizons I had only dreamed to see.

Kindness, courage and curiosity. They made me everything I needed to be.

Gargi