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A Nature poem for your soul. As the catkins are hanging from some hazel trees and a few tentative shoots of spring bulbs start to become visible, it is a sign that day by day winter is slowly ebbing and spring is on its way. This poem by Angie-Weiland Crosby gently describes the nature of Winter as a frail, elderly person, relinquishing her time so the new, young Spring can take over and carry on the cycle of life Spring’s Winter Most said winter was a brittle beast, a lonely soul in deep freeze. She lived alone on a mountaintop, Coldness covering every rock. So few noticed her or stopped to care; For who wants to know despair? Indeed, only one made that frosty trek, A want to greet her, to connect. It was Spring who climbed that weathered peak, Dressed bright in fresh greenery. She brought seeds as her fine offerings, Left by the door for company. Winter so longed to bring Spring inside, and unveil her heart fireside. You see, Winter knew her end was near; Sounds of birds chirping rang clear. Nature’s seasons are a strange wild thing Tied together—a soulful ring. So, Spring soon sensed Winter’s aching need; Her solemn message she did heed. Spring ventured bravely from her terrain, Scaling a blizzard, in pain. With her budding soul she still trudged, Reaching Winter’s door, a tiny nudge. Winter sat hunched over hardened snow, Bones crooked and tears aglow. Finally, the first time they did meet; Spring bowing at her iced feet. She stared deep in Winter’s wise old land, holding tight her wrinkled hand; Listening to all her stories told Of a life long-lived in the cold. Each day Spring did as the one before To be with her a little more. As she drew close to Winter’s hearth, Peace she brought—a kind rebirth. Tucked beneath the warmest shades of Spring, Winter smiled, her lines sparkling. Even as her cool breath grew weary; Her spirit roused, almost cheery. Most said Winter was a brittle beast, a lonely soul in deep freeze. But Spring did learn that beneath the chill, Winter snows her magic will. And so, when the end finally came, Spring stayed with her all the same. Sunlit snowflakes laced her bluish cheeks, As Winter soon fell asleep. Spring kissed her head, and leaned to her ear, So her dearest Winter could hear. Singing softly as her grandmother died, “I’ll bloom for you, while my heart still cries.” With our appreciation; this poem was originally posted here: https://www.momsoulsoothers.com/a-nature-poem-for-your-soul-springs-winter/
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This year, 2023, is the centenary year of the publication in America of the book The Prophet, by Kahlil Gibran. Considered to be a classic of 20th century literature, The Prophet has never been out of print, has been translated into many different languages, and over the decades has sold millions of copies worldwide. It was much disliked by the critics of the day, but nevertheless struck a chord with the public at large, quickly sold out and became an instant best-seller, appealing to people who would not usually read poetry or literature. It is now in public ownership in several countries, including the USA and the EU.
He saw himself as an artist first however, rather than as a poet and writer, although it is for his literary work he is most remembered, not only The Prophet, but his great contribution to reviving and modernising classical Arabic literature in the 20th century. He is said to be one of the worlds’ best-selling poets, along with Shakespeare, Lao Tzu and Rumi. The book itself is a collection of 26 short parables in prose poetry, set at the time of the departure of a wise man, Almustafa, who has been living in the fictional city of Orphalese for the past twelve years. The people are sad to see him leave and bid him speak to them one more time, asking him a series of questions relating to everyday life: love, death, trade, children, eating and drinking, self-knowledge and more. Gibran’s art expresses a deeper truth, emphasising the importance of a unified humanity, with shared values and peace at its core. He is said to have described the meaning of the book as, “The Prophet is really saying one thing, You are far greater than you know. All is well.” It is this comforting feeling that endears it to peoples’ hearts. This small book, easily slipped into a pocket or bag, is as often gifted to friends, family and lovers, as it is recited at weddings and funerals and it is clear that it has resonated with people all over the world because of its heartfelt quality. It is not a work that lends itself to be analysed but rather to be appreciated for the beauty of its language and the sentiment it conveys, “Life is beauty: therefore, live it beautifully.” (Kahlil Gibran). Here is an excerpt from the book - Then a Priestess said, Speak to us of Prayer.
And he answered, saying: You pray in your distress and in your need; would that you might pray also in the fullness of your joy and in the days of your abundance. For what is prayer but the expansion of yourself into the living ether? And if it is for your comfort to pour your darkness into space, it is also for your delight to pour forth the dawning of your heart. And if you cannot but weep when your soul summons you to prayer, she should spur you again and yet again, though weeping, until you shall come laughing. When you pray you rise to meet in the air those who are praying at that very hour, and whom save in prayer you may not meet. Therefore, let your visit to that temple invisible be for naught but ecstasy and sweet communion. For if you should enter the temple for no other purpose than asking you shall not receive: And if you should enter into it to humble yourself you shall not be lifted, Or even if you should enter into it to beg for the good of others you shall not be heard. It is enough that you enter the temple invisible. I cannot teach you how to pray in words. God listens not to your words save when He Himself utters them through your lips. And I cannot teach you the prayer of the seas and the forests and the mountains. But you who are born of the mountains and the forests and the seas can find their prayer in your heart, And if you listen in the stillness of the night you shall hear them saying in silence, “Our God, who art our winged self, it is thy will in us that willeth. It is thy desire in us that desireth. It is thy urge in us that would turn your nights, which are thine, into days, which are thine also. We cannot ask thee for aught, for thou knowest our needs before they are born in us: Thou art our need; and in giving us more of thyself thou givest us all.” |
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