22 November 2020

A Fourth Poem for a November Sunday

Naomi Shihab Nye, 1952

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.


Nance said...

I love the gravity and tone of this poem. Sometimes, I do think that Kindness is born of loss and empathy.

Dee said...

We can't know joy, if we don't know pain.

Chris said...

"Who understands
before communicated with
as only the oppressed
(Michael O'Huanachain, 1973)