Wednesday, November 10, 2010

Sleep of the Trees / We are the Garden of our Fathers and Mothers / The Rose of Conscience

27. HoHum HoHum, Me Sleep
Me sleep in winter,
Me bloom in spring and summer,
And when the angels of autumn dither,
Me know me shan’t stay awake much longer,

And how me fall for their sleeping songs,
These angels who make me doze in ease;
“To bed”, They sing,
“ To sleep you belong,
Beneath your blanket of golden leaves.”
From Chapter 15 ‘The Red Baron’, 27th July 2005

Hmm... I am resting beneath a whimsical prose of wood spirits and angels today. Just don’t mention Tolkien or Treebeard.

I am also thinking that our mater and pater - they are all consumate gardeners and greenthumbs. Because, however stubborn we may be as saplings, no matter that our soil holds little promise - somehow, bit by bit, their garden yield the most beautiful of roses - Our conscience. I may follow it reluctantly, I may at times refuse to listen to my conscience. But it is there already, in full bloom. And for that I owe it all to my mum and dad.

And if you share the same sentiments, dear friend... really, how can we not be brothers and sisters?

Pax Taufiqa.


Zul said...

This is so beautiful...really :/ how we cannot be brothers..amazing... :)

Milky Tea said...

Ah true. We are brothers. Just woke up, posted my friday blog (hope u like it!). Now have to do friday night duties. Thank you for your kind comments, mon ami.