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.