Story No. 18

I never complained about the turning of time, nor scowled at the wheeling of the sky, except once, when my feet were bare and I couldn't afford a pair of shoes. I walked into the great mosque of Kufa, heavy-hearted, and saw a man with no feet at all. I gave thanks to God for what I had, and made my peace with having no shoes. To a man whose belly is full, roast chicken means less than a leaf of greens on the table. But to one with no means and no strength, a boiled turnip is a roast chicken.