Kindness

I’ve been reading one of my most favorite poems, Kindness by Naomi Shihab Nye, several times lately. The reason, you might ask? It is, in fact, that recent life events with those I know and love have returned me to this beautiful poem. Thus, I share Kindness in case it speaks to you as much as it does me.

KINDNESS by Naomi Shihab Nye

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.

How you ride and ride

thinking the bus will never stop,

the passengers eating maize and chicken

will stare out the window forever.

Before you learn the tender gravity of kindness,

You must travel where the Indian in a white poncho

Lies dead by the side of the road.

You must see how this could be you,

How he too was someone

Who journeyed through the night with plans

And the simple breath that kept him alive.

Before you know kindness as the deepest thing inside,

you must know sorrow as the other deepest thing.

You must wake up with sorrow,

You must speak to it till your voice

catches the thread of all sorrows

and you see the size of the cloth.

Then it is only kindness that makes any sense anymore,

only kindness that ties your shoes

and sends you out into the day to mail letters and

                purchase bread

from the crowd of the world to say

it is I you have been looking for,

and then goes with you everywhere

like a shadow or a friend.