Nightmares Abound

Somebody in my neighborhood is practicing the piano. Every now and then, they make a mistake, but it sounds good. It sounds clear and bright and cheerful, like what you'd expect to hear coming from a piano at a Mothers' Day brunch. Hopeful.
In a different neighborhood far away, but not too far, my Syrian friend's family is thinking about how they'll get bread and vegetables tomorrow. Will they cross the street to buy what they need or will they go with what little they have left. If they cross the street, will they get shot or will the friend behind them get shot or will it be okay.
In a different neighborhood quite far away, my mom's friend's husband is recovering from a stroke and dying from cancer and getting ready for a surgery to repair his broken arm.
In my apartment, cockroaches and spiders and flies are dying from the pesticide that was sprayed on Friday, and are then getting flushed down the toilet. In comparison, it is nothing.
But what beauty is left here? Is the piano enough to make up for the nightmares we all face and the nightmares we all create?