Lights Along the Road · Hiroshi Kanda
Chapter 48: Greeting New Life With Joy
The Words: Lin Huiyin, 1934
In 1934, Lin Huiyin published a short poem in Chinese with the title "You Are the April Days of the World". Under the title, she called it a song of praise for love. In my own words, the poem tells someone dear: your laughter lights up everything around you; you are the clouds of an early spring sky, the soft wind at evening, the stars, the fine rain on flowers; you are the first fresh green of new buds, the swallow singing under the roof; you are love, you are warmth, you are hope; you are the April days of the world. The poem is often read as written for her young son, who was then a small child.
The Life Behind the Words
Lin Huiyin was born in 1904 and died in 1955. She was a poet and writer, and she was also an architect at a time when very few women could study that subject. As a young woman, she studied far from home, and she returned with a deep wish to understand the buildings of her own land. With her husband, who was also an architect, she travelled in the 1930s to study old temples, bridges and towers. They measured them, drew them and wrote about them, so that knowledge of these buildings would not be lost.
Her life was full of work, and in later years it was also marked by long illness. Yet her poems are bright, light and full of movement. "You Are the April Days of the World" shows why. It is the voice of someone who looks at a new life, perhaps the face of a small child, and sees in it the whole of spring. A person who spent her days studying stone and wood, things built to last, also knew how to praise what is fresh, soft and fleeting.
What the Words Ask of Us
The poem asks us to see the people we love as gifts, and to say so. It does not complain, warn or explain. It simply praises. Many of us feel love for a child, a partner, a parent or a friend, but we rarely find words for it. Lin Huiyin gives an example of how to do it: by naming the beautiful things of the world and saying, you are like this to me. Joy, the poem suggests, grows when it is spoken aloud.
Think of Elias, a grandfather who is seventy-five. His granddaughter has just learned to walk, and she wobbles across the room towards him, laughing. Elias has seen many springs, and perhaps he thought he had seen everything. But in that moment, the room feels full of light, and he feels young. That evening he writes a few lines in a notebook, trying to say what she is to him. They are not perfect lines. They do not need to be. He has done what the poem does: he has greeted new life with joy.
Similar Words From Around the World
Matsuo Bashō, who wrote in Japanese, opens his travel book The Narrow Road to the Deep North, about a journey of 1689, with this thought: the months and days are travellers of a hundred ages, and the years that come and go are travellers too. April does not stay. Bashō reminds us that every season passes by, like a traveller on the road. Lin Huiyin's poem is a way of greeting the traveller while it is here. Because April will go, it is worth saying clearly, now, how bright it is.
Yoshida Kenkō, who also wrote in Japanese, in the 1300s, gives a deeper reason in Essays in Idleness, section 7. In my own words, he says that if we lived forever, nothing would move us; it is the uncertainty of the world that makes it precious. A child grows up, spring turns to summer, and no moment of a life comes twice. Kenkō sees this as the very thing that gives life its value. Lin Huiyin's poem holds one precious moment in words, so that its warmth is not lost.
Living It Today
We all have April days, even if we do not always notice them. For a young parent, it may be a baby's first laugh. For a student, it may be a new friendship. For someone at work, it may be the first day of a project they care about. For an older reader, it may be a visit from a grandchild, a garden coming into flower, or a letter from a friend not seen for years. The poem invites us to stop and see these days for what they are.
This week, tell one person what they are to you. You do not need to write a poem. You can say it in a message, a card or a few words over dinner: you are warmth to me, you are hope, you make my days brighter. It may feel shy or strange at first. But the people we love rarely hear such words too often. Lin Huiyin's April poem is still being read long after her own April days, and your few words, too, may stay in someone's heart for years.
Chapter 49: Raising the Self Toward Its Best
The Words: Muhammad Iqbal, 1935
In 1935, Muhammad Iqbal published a book of poems in Urdu called Gabriel's Wing. Gabriel, in Islamic belief, is the angel who brings God's word to the prophets, and the title suggests poems that try to carry a message from above. In one famous couplet, a pair of lines that belong together, Iqbal speaks to the reader. In my own words, he says: raise your khudi so high that, before every turn of fate, God himself will ask you, "Tell me, what is your wish?" The word khudi means the self, but not the selfish self. It means a person's inner dignity and strength.
The Life Behind the Words
Iqbal was born in 1877 in South Asia and died in 1938. He was a poet and a philosopher, and he wrote in both Urdu and Persian. As a young man, he went to Europe to study philosophy and law, and he earned a doctorate there. He then worked as a lawyer, but poetry and thought were the centre of his life. His poems were recited by ordinary people as well as by scholars, and many are still sung and learned by heart today.
The idea of khudi runs through his work. In 1915, he published a long poem in Persian called The Secrets of the Self, which explains it. Iqbal believed, as part of his faith, that each person's self is a gift from God and is meant to grow strong through effort, love and faith, rather than fade into weakness or passive waiting. He felt that many people of his time had grown used to simply accepting whatever came to them. His poems call such people to wake up and stand tall. The couplet in Gabriel's Wing gives this call its boldest form.
What the Words Ask of Us
The couplet is a picture of the dignity of a person who has grown fully. Iqbal imagines someone so developed in character and will that even fate does not simply happen to them; they take part in shaping it. This is not pride. In his belief, khudi grows only together with humility before God and love for others. Read gently, the couplet asks each of us not to think of ourselves as small and powerless. It asks us to build our inner strength, so that we can meet life as active people, not only as people that life happens to.
Think of Soraya, who is thirty-eight and has always let others decide for her. At work she waits to be told what to do, and at home she gives way in every choice. One year, she begins to ask herself each morning what she truly values and what she wants to give. Slowly she speaks up more, takes on a project she believes in, and learns to say no kindly. Nothing dramatic happens. But people begin to ask Soraya what she thinks. Her self has grown, and the world around her has noticed.
Similar Words From Around the World
Socrates, as Plato tells us in the Apology, 38a, said that the unexamined life is not worth living for a human being. Socrates speaks of looking at oneself honestly, with questions. Iqbal speaks of raising oneself with will and faith. The two belong together. A self cannot grow strong if it never looks at itself, and looking at oneself has little point if it does not lead to growth. Together they describe a full process: first know yourself, then raise yourself.
The Bhagavad Gita, an old text in Sanskrit, says in chapter 3, verse 35, that it is better to follow your own path, even imperfectly, than to follow another's path well. This shares Iqbal's respect for the self. Khudi is not a copy of anyone else; it is one's own true nature, made strong. The Gita and Iqbal come from different faiths, yet they agree on one point: each person has a way that is truly their own, and life is fuller when we walk that way with courage.
Living It Today
These words can help people in many situations. A young person who feels lost among others' expectations can begin to ask what they truly care about. Someone who has given years to caring for others can remember that their own self also deserves care and growth. An older reader, whose days may now be quieter, can still raise the self through learning, kindness and steady habits. Iqbal published Gabriel's Wing when he was nearly sixty, and he was still calling people upward.
This week, take a few quiet minutes each morning and ask yourself one question: what is one thing I can do today that would make me a little stronger inside? It might be keeping a promise, finishing a small task, speaking honestly, or learning something new. Write the answer down, then do it. Little by little, such days build a self with dignity and strength. Iqbal's couplet is bold, but its hope is simple: you are more than you think, and you can grow.