The kettle sings; the windows shake,
A hundred little worries wake.
Yet sunlight finds the kitchen floor
And rests, though rain assails the door.
My thoughts arrive with muddy feet,
With unfinished tales and hearts that beat;
I let them gather, let them stay—
Must every cloud be swept away?
A fallen blossom, bruised and red,
Lies where the hurried feet have tread.
I lift it gently to my palm—
A small disturbance, holding calm.
What strange, untidy things we are,
A little dust, a little star;
We carry thunder in the chest
And make a place for love to rest.
The children laugh; a cup breaks wide;
Someone has spilled the tea beside
The book I meant to read till noon—
And through it all, a half-sung tune.
I cannot teach the wind to cease,
But I can share this seat with peace.
And leave some room for what goes wrong,
As silence leaves its room for song.
So let the day untie its thread;
Let plans go wandering off instead.
There’s beauty here, beneath my palm—
Life beating in chaotic calm.
-Mani