Hearts That Bend Poem by ashok jadhav

I walked where sorrow draped the streets,
Where weary eyes met dust and stone;
Each face a story, sharp and deep,
Each voice a cry I could not own.
A mother wept beside her door,
Her children shivering in the cold;
I felt the weight of all their pain,
A grief no silver could unfold.
The laborer bent beneath the sun,
His hands were cracked, his back was raw;
Yet still he toiled, yet still he smiled,
Though none would notice, none would awe.
The old man sat with silent grief,
His memories like falling leaves;
I knelt beside his aching heart,
And let my quiet presence weave.
For sympathy is not just tears,
Nor fleeting pity in the day;
It is the hand, the word, the heart,
That stays when others turn away.
So may my steps remember well
The weight that others daily bear;
And may my heart remain awake,
To hold their sorrow, light and care.