The parable of sorrow and joy Bashny.Net

When my Sadness...

When my Sorrow was born I nursed her carefully and protected with tenderness and love.

My Sorrow grew like all living things, to grow up strong, beautiful, full of charm and enchantment.



 

And it is with Sadness that we loved each other and loved around us, the world, and because Sorrow had a kind heart and mine next to her became kinder.

When we sad and talked, our days took on wings and dreams were enveloped in our nights, because Sadness told vivid language and my language was next to her brighter.

When Sorrow sang, the neighbours sit outside the Windows to listen to us, because our songs were deep as the sea, and their melodies were full of quirky memories.

When we were together with Sadness, the people accompanied us a gentle look and whispered the following sweet words. And sometimes looked at us envious eyes, because the Sadness was noble and I was proud of her.

But my Sorrow died, as all living things die, and left me alone with my thoughts and meditations. And now, when I say the words of lead falling from his lips. When I sing, the neighbors did not want to listen to my songs. When walking on the street, no one will even look at me. And only in dreams I can hear somebody said sympathetically:

- See, here lies the man whose Sorrow is dead.

When I was born, my Joy...

And when my Joy was born, I took her in my arms and he went up into the roof of the house, cried:

— Come, neighbour, look what a Joy today I was born! Come, good people, we'll see how she is carefree fun and laughs in the sun!

But to my great surprise, none of the neighbors did not want to see my Joy.



 

Seven months in a row every day I would ascend to the roof of the house and proclaimed the birth of Joy, however no one listened to my words. So we lived, me and Joy, all alone, and nobody was interested in us.

And here is the face of Joy became pale and sad, because no other heart but mine, not admired her charm and anyone else's lips not touched kiss her lips.

And that's my Joy died out of loneliness.

And then now I only remember my dead Joy, when I remember my dead Sorrow. But memory is an autumn leaf, which, preselected in the wind, silent forever.

 

@ Gibran Khalil Gibran. From the book "Mad. His parables and poems"

 

P. S. And remember, just changing your mind — together we change the world! ©

Source: econetonline.com