Love of Nirmal Hruday
In Calcutta's heart, a symphony of need,
A chorus of coughs, a symphony of pain indeed.
Not music of strings, but of souls in despair,
Yet a love song hums, a love beyond compare.
Frail hands cradle a child, fever-wracked and thin,
Each touch a whisper, "You are not alone within."
Eyes, deep as wells of empathy untold,
Reflect the suffering, yet a warmth unfolds.
The stench of poverty, a harsh and bitter air,
Masked by the fragrance of compassion, a gentle prayer.
Laughter echoes, a child's joy, pure and bright,
A melody of hope, piercing the darkest night.
No grand pronouncements, no promises of gold,
Just a presence silent, a story yet untold.
In the crinkled smile, a universe resides,
A love that transcends, where difference subsides.
For love, like water, seeks the lowest ground,
Fills the cracks and crevices, where hope is not found.
Mother Teresa, a vessel of grace so deep,
Shows us the love that heals, the love we all must keep.
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