There's so much you want to say,
but time keeps taking time and all
your words away. How to say—amid
this flood of gratitude and grief—
"Thank you!", or "How beautiful,
how grand!", or "I don't know how
I survived", or "I miss you so," or
"I was changed forever the day
we two joined hands."
As you reach for your last words,
you realize this is it—this ebbing tide
of language called your life, words
trailing into silence, returning to
the source—this unfinished poem
you would have writ, had you not
been awash in wonder, grateful
to be living it.
The little orphan and I walked down the mountain to the city to buy shoes. She slipped out of her small rubber sandals into a new pair, carefully counted 45 rupees (less than one US dollar) into the shopkeeper's hand, and walked away.
"Wait! " I called, as I reached for the discarded shoes. "You've forgotten your old sandals. "
She glanced back at me, "No, leave them," she firmly replied. "I only need one pair. Leave them for someone who has none. "
Love. Compassion.
I must practice.