Saturday, February 12, 2011
Could someone accept my deeds, my watering their wilting plant & merely smile? Not tell the neighbours about it & not buy me flowers? Why must a simple deed have seismic repercussions? Why must it marshal emotions & gratitude of the tangible kinds? Can it not be a sunrise?For simple deeds are indeed sunrises and sunsets, bringing warmth to the onlooker and making you mortally incapable of returning the favour.When I lock your gate behind you or wipe the windshield of a long parked car, receive them as deeds to be done and not coupons to redeem.I have nothing to show you or impress you with. In performing my deeds which you call human or some such grand word of the day, I am myself.My deeds are of the same flowering quality of Spring's buds - they simply blossom, whether a chronicler lurks behind a park bench or not.In performing them, I am not leaving you indebted to me nor do I wish to woo you. My works mark negligible valuation in my scheme of worth.Yet I perform them as the sun rises in spite of charring all the sonnets written to its ochre praise. They are not an end in themselves.