The Inheritance of Kindness

I often find myself wondering — why is it so difficult for some people to be kind? Especially to those who serve them, quietly, day after day, without asking for much in return. A waiter at a restaurant, a house help, a colleague who takes the blame so the team stays safe. What makes someone raise their voice or dismiss another person’s dignity so casually?

2

The Lamp Within

As I near the twilight curve of life,
memories glow—half ember, half flame.
Once, the street would echo with laughter and clang,
vessels clattering by the public tap at one a.m.,
tiny hands waiting in line, slick with sesame oil—
the ritual to rinse away bad luck,
the dawn bath, the race to light the sky
before the sun could claim the first spark.

Now, the oil burns inside screens—
WhatsApp greetings, pixel lamps,
and faces that flicker, not quite near, not quite gone.
Children and their children dream elsewhere,
and my mother, in her quiet nest,
still lights her lamp the old way,
its glow steady, refusing to learn Wi-Fi.

I sit by the balcony’s hush,
wondering—
is it the spark that’s changed its hue,
or have we traded the warmth of hands
for the hum of notifications?

The glitter fades faster than my breath,
yet somewhere deep within,
a small flame endures—
not dissolving,
just transforming—
from the crackle of fireworks
to the silence of light.
2

Desert Wind Songs

✏️ Day 29 – Desert Wind Songs
 (UAE)

My pencil rolled across the page like a dune.
Golden curves, soft and endless.
Then—vroom!—a streak of silver sliced through.
A race car!
Right in the middle of my desert!

The pencil laughed,
saying Abu Dhabi loves to surprise.
One moment you’re counting grains of sand,
the next you’re counting laps at Yas Marina.

I drew the city’s edge—
glass towers rising like mirages,
a falcon gliding overhead,
its wings tracing the shape of speed.

Then came a secret:
there’s a hotel here where rooms
overlook the Formula 1 track—
and when cars race by,
the windows tremble with joy.

I signed my name quickly,
half afraid my pencil might take off too.
The wind outside hummed low,
and for once,
it sounded like an engine dreaming.

✨ If your pencil could race the wind, where would it stop to rest?
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