Have I not

Have I not, in tiresome days, drawn lines
across those rugged floors;
the cracks—a hundred of them all
wrapped my hands and feet with sores?

Have I not, at night, tried painting stars
across a gloomy, cloudless sky
where I invented alien hues
for portraits showing way up high?

Have I not wandered many seas
to seek the rarest jewel;
starved, and lost all hope of life,
to raise my worth a little?

Have I not paid a restful night
with songs I wrote in pain;
was I to extinguish a raging fire
and slain my soul in vain?

Have I not, pray tell, and let me count
how many times I heard ‘Begone!’
Perhaps in solitude, I’ll watch unfold
the tragedy—in everything I’ve done.

Evelyn Dumag-Gabinete

One’s purpose in doing good (even if it’s really good) should be beyond just doing good, or merely pleasing people. It must be all about unconditional love; you cannot expect anything in return, lest you grow weary, and the fruit will only turn into resentment.

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