IMPORTANT

(Poem)

On a cloudless morning,
a boy no older than seven or eight
walks hand in hand with his father,

to place a small stone
on his mother’s grave.

Elsewhere, not far,
a young woman
wearing a pale green dress
and a hijab,

weeps as she carries
her infant daughter
through war-ravaged streets.

Their faces—both young and old,
bear expressions
of utter and merciless 
desolation.

A friend writes,
with what I suspect
is bitter irony:

“God help us all.”

This, I think,
is the most important thing
I’ve heard
in a very long time.

Postscript

That statement, “God help us all,” feels more relevant now than at any point in my life. Through the years, I’ve come to see the world with what some might call a “tragic vision.” It’s not a pessimistic outlook, not exactly. Rather, it’s a kind of awareness, an unflinching recognition of the limitations built into the human experience. We are, by nature, fallible and self-protective. And while that truth reveals itself in war and global conflict, it also shows up in quieter places—within families, friendships, and relationships. These small, often invisible frictions reflect something essential and difficult about being human.

I often wonder how any of us, as mortal beings, might overcome our native tendency toward self-preservation. How do we truly enter into empathy—not just as a gesture, but in a way that reaches beyond our own instincts? I believe war is, in many ways, a magnification of those everyday struggles. It’s the same dynamic, scaled up—our inability to listen, to give, to see the other as ourselves.

And I’m not immune to it. None of us are.

So when I hear “God help us all,” I don’t hear sarcasm or resignation. I hear a genuine plea—for us to rise as far as we can through our own efforts, and then, for something greater to break through the hard shells we carry. For grace, perhaps. Or awakening. For a shift in consciousness that we can’t yet name—one where we begin to see not just the miracle of life, but the miracle of every individual life.