After a Year That Took Too Much
There are years that pass quietly, leaving little trace.
And then there are years that scar.
For many of us, 2025 was not merely difficult — it was exhausting. It was a year of relentless bad news, personal losses, social fractures, ecological anxiety, and an unshakable sense that the world had become harsher in both word and deed. Even moments of joy felt fragile, temporary, as though borrowed against an uncertain future.
Globally, conflicts deepened instead of resolving. Trust in institutions eroded further. Conversations hardened. Compassion became performative or conditional. At a personal level, many carried invisible grief — illness, burnout, broken relationships, professional uncertainty — often without the language or space to name it.
By December, what many of us felt was not celebration, but fatigue.
And so, standing at the threshold of a new year, I found myself not making resolutions, but offering a prayer — not for greatness or success, but for kindness. For gentleness. For a world that hurts a little less.
I chose to write this prayer in Kannada, my language of emotion and memory, because some hopes are too intimate for borrowed words.
Below is that poem — followed by a line-by-line English translation, so that its meaning can travel beyond language.
🕊️ A Prayer for a Kinder 2026
(Kannada Poem with English Translation)
ಓ ಕಾಲದ ದೇವರೆ,
O deity of time,
ಕಳೆಯಿತು ಕಠಿಣ ವರ್ಷ –
A difficult year has passed —
ಕಣ್ಣೀರಿನ ಉಪ್ಪು ನೆನಪುಗಳಲ್ಲಿ,
The salt of tears lingers in memories,
ಮೌನದ ಭಾರ ಹೃದಯಗಳಲ್ಲಿ.
The weight of silence rests in our hearts.
2025 ನಮಗೆ ಕಲಿಸಿತು
2025 taught us
ಬಾಳಿನ ನಾಜೂಕು ಎಷ್ಟು ಸುಲಭವಾಗಿ ಮುರಿಯುತ್ತದೆ ಎಂದು,
How easily the fragility of life can break,
ನಂಬಿಕೆಯ ದೀಪ ಎಷ್ಟು ಗಾಳಿಗೆ ನಡುಗುತ್ತದೆ ಎಂದು.
How faith’s lamp trembles in the slightest wind.
ಆದರೆ ಈಗ,
But now,
ಹೊಸ ದಿನದ ಬಾಗಿಲಲ್ಲಿ ನಿಂತಿದ್ದೇವೆ ನಾವು –
We stand at the doorway of a new day —
2026,
2026,
ನೀನು ದಯೆಯ ಹಸ್ತದಿಂದ ಬಾ.
Come to us with a gentle hand.
ಕೋಪಕ್ಕಿಂತ ಸಹನೆ ಹೆಚ್ಚಿರಲಿ,
Let patience outweigh anger,
ಭಯಕ್ಕಿಂತ ಭರವಸೆ ಬೆಳಗಲಿ,
Let hope shine brighter than fear,
ನಷ್ಟಕ್ಕಿಂತ ಕಲಿಕೆ ಹೆಚ್ಚು ಉಳಿಯಲಿ.
Let learning outlast loss.
ಮಾತುಗಳು ಗಾಯ ಮಾಡದಿರಲಿ,
Let words no longer wound,
ಮೌನಗಳು ಒಂಟಿತನವಾಗದಿರಲಿ,
Let silence not turn into loneliness,
ಮಾನವತೆ ಮತ್ತೊಮ್ಮೆ
Let humanity once again
ಮಾನವನಿಗೆ ಮನೆ ಆಗಲಿ.
Become a home for humankind.
ಭೂಮಿಗೆ ವಿಶ್ರಾಂತಿ ಸಿಗಲಿ,
Let the Earth find rest,
ಆಕಾಶಕ್ಕೆ ನಿಶ್ಚಲತೆ ಮರಳಲಿ,
Let calm return to the skies,
ಮಕ್ಕಳ ನಗುವು
Let children’s laughter
ಸುದ್ದಿಗಳ ಶೀರ್ಷಿಕೆ ಆಗಲಿ.
Become the headlines.
ಓ 2026,
O 2026,
ನಾವು ಪರಿಪೂರ್ಣತೆಯನ್ನು ಬೇಡುವುದಿಲ್ಲ,
We do not ask for perfection,
ಕೇವಲ ಸ್ವಲ್ಪ ಮೃದುತನ,
Only a little gentleness,
ಸ್ವಲ್ಪ ನ್ಯಾಯ,
A little justice,
ಸ್ವಲ್ಪ ಹೆಚ್ಚು ಪ್ರೀತಿ ಸಾಕು.
And a little more love.
ಹಿಂದಿನ ವರ್ಷದ ನೆರಳುಗಳನ್ನು ಮೃದುವಾಗಿ ಬಿಡಿಸಿ,
Gently loosen the shadows of the past year,
ಹೊಸ ಬೆಳಕಿನಲ್ಲಿ ನಮ್ಮನ್ನು ನಡೆಯಿಸು.
And lead us forward into new light.
ಇದೇ ನಮ್ಮ ಪ್ರಾರ್ಥನೆ.
This is our prayer.
ಇದೇ ನಮ್ಮ ನಿರೀಕ್ಷೆ.
This is our hope.
Why This Prayer Matters
We often treat years as numbers on a calendar, but they are lived in bodies, minds, and relationships. When a year like 2025 passes, it leaves residue — grief unprocessed, anger normalized, empathy depleted.
Praying for a kinder 2026 is not escapism.
It is resistance.
It is a refusal to accept cruelty as normal, exhaustion as inevitable, or indifference as wisdom. It is choosing softness in a world that rewards hardness. It is believing that even if systems do not change overnight, we still can — in how we speak, listen, forgive, and care.
If 2025 taught us anything, it is this:
progress without compassion is hollow.
So here’s to 2026 —
not as a miracle year,
but as a more human one.
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