( Yuko Nagayama – aquarelle Japanese painter)
In a teeny wee valley right across the mountains
Dwelt a field of stardusts, their petals dainty and shiny
So smooth, so soft, so delicate were they
Bobbing up and down, laughing, sheer joy spreading.
Seven petals each one had, creamy white the colour
Stems smooth and glistening, leaves tiny bright green
And when the sun shone down on them
A white carpet they seemed, so pure, fit for a queen.
Morning they arose, shook off their dewdrops
Whispered a prayer to the Almighty
Higher and higher the sun rose in the sky
So too their spirits, soaring heavenward high
“Will he come today?” cried they excitedly
A lookout they kept over the clouds passing by
Anticipation mounting, as each one approached slowly
“What stories has he in store?” they wondered silently
At last came the angel, riding his favourite cloud
From a long long voyage, across the valley and hills
Wanderer that he was, travelling yonder
On his silver cloud, flying with the wind.
Today the cloud felt lethargic, so floated she gently
At other times, full of energy, whizzed she through swiftly
Now launching above, glistening, near the sun
She took a drink of sunshine, her cheeks glowing gold
The stardusts gathered down, with joy swelling their hearts
“Angel, Angel, tell us please, your stories of yonder
Fill our hearts with wonder, make us explode in rapture
Reveal your marvels to us, enriched be our souls.”
So of damsels and swans, of fish and jungle beasts
The Angel told them tales, each better than the best
Of creatures, the true embodiment of beauty
Of still others, fearsome and powerful.
“Enchanting visions, rhapsodies of pure bliss” began the Angel
“Vision? Sound?” asked the poor stardusts
“Pray, tell us, these things which you speak of
Are unknown to us, simpletons that we are.”
“Oh,” sighed the Angel, “You poor innocents!”
“You do not have sight, to see and admire the beauty of the earth.
You do not know sound, to hear the gentle whispering of the woods
The blue of the ocean you do not see
The song of the waves you do not hear.”
“But why do we need sight? Our hearts are open to beauty, we feel it.
We perceive the music of pure clear love.
We have but one organ, our large heart
Which pulsates to all the vibrations of the Universe.”
“True,” said the Angel, “from where I came
People have eyes to measure beauty, yet they do not see
They have ears, but seldom do they hear the laughter of a baby
They have tongues which they use to spite one another.
Where are their hearts, I wonder? Indeed they are born with one.
The Almighty equipped them with the finest tools ever.”
“Beyond the five senses he gave them each a heart
Which whispers to the soul infinite wisdom
But slowly the heart shrank to nothingness
In its place grew their mighty egos.
Love, compassion, tenderness, all had to flee
To make way for anger, greed, and jealousy,
And the most dangerous evil of all- indifference.”
“Stop,” cried the stardusts,”Already our own hearts flutter
They tremble and shrink and hide deep within.
Like the air we breathe, like the food we consume
So does our heart need love and bliss.”
“Of what use are eyes? Or ears? Or speech?
We are content with just our hearts
Which gives and receives all the love, beauty and joy
Where the heart is trampled upon, no other senses work.”
“Blessed we consider ourselves, gratitude we feel
A teeny bit of pity for the beings you spoke of
Like lead they carry their dead hearts
Meaningless a life they lead.”
And so the Angel took leave, his heart singing
Upon seeing his tiny friends swaying happily in the wind
Their only purpose in life, to spread their fragrance
In all directions, like waves rippling, till eternity.