The sweetest things in life fall from the sky-
They rain over the draught of your distraught heart and before you know there is new life growing on a rather barren land.
Have you ever touched the soft tender new leaves growing out of an old tree? You should because you won’t find a better metaphor to capture the spirit of life.
For, what is life if not a never-ending tale of young taking birth in the safe embrace of age-old wisdom?
A bird once died in an old man’s garden. It was a beautiful cuckoo with songs of a hundred months dying in its craw.
What must the man have done if not mourn for the sad demise? How must have he mourned if not by laying the small bird and its sweet voice to rest forever?
But, how do you expect to sleep in peace after having witnessed the world as it lost a part of its beauty? How can you not stay up at nights, thinking of ways to bring that bliss back to the world?
What do you do if not risk being called a fool? But then, why must the world question a mourning person’s folly?
The old man was wise but since when has wisdom been kin to apathy? He chose to let his emotions consume him. After having lost sleep for a painfully long week, his heart rebelled against his mind one night.
He was quick to take hold of the same spade that had dug a grave for the sad little bird. He was quicker to pluck stems from his favorite rose shrub, one that he had nurtured for years; and before he knew, he had planted the seed to new life exactly where he had buried the remains of what was once living.
And so he did, for the next hundred nights, allowing his tears to water what was yet to grow.
One fine day, it did. The hundred stems he had planted beside his little friend had torn the chest of Earth to stand anew. Their tenders spoke of each lost story that the bird had carried with itself to the other side. The tales were alive and so was their sweet nectar. The old man had won, but had he really?