On Kindness and Complacency

You say that words 

Should fall on me like rain, 

Should sweep by me like wind, 

And I, like stone, should merely stand, 

Unperturbed and unbecoming.

You wish me to hide away my voice 

When others scream. 

You say it is the kind thing to do.

You, whose feet have never dug 

The maddening soils of toil, 

Whose sole duty is to eat away 

The gold on his plate.

You tell me to keep quiet.

Kindness is not silence; 

Is not a secret hatred guised by the rich 

For the sake of images.

Kindness is carved by anger; 

Is an evolution of sadness and grief, 

Is an empathy that stretches far and deep.

Simple, a fact, this is: 

That kindness and complacency 

Sit at opposite ends, 

With no opportunity to intertwine.

And I, like stone, will not stand, unwavering. 

I will fall apart and disturb the rivers, 

I will pollute the crystal calmness of your artificial nature.