Wednesday, 9 July 2014

Paint The Sky! I'll Touch The Wind! © by Irina Serban

When eagles cry distressed, you paint the sky in hues of passion, and let it pour in our hearts consuming desire.

When fires burn, you paint the sky in hues of sorrow, and let it rain to cool our tormented thoughts.

When we lie dormant, you link the two distant worlds with threads of light, and make them burst into our souls, scattering them in fragments of iridescent questioning.

What is around us that talks in whispers and lures us to no-places where we don't need our senses to meet and know each other?

What is it that ties us and draws one filament after another until we're caught in spider webs of resignation?

What kind of painter are you who touches the unseen canvases and sows winds where nothingness once birthed only peace and quiet?

How can we walk through the tempests you create?

Why don't you let us live nowhere where we need nothing to be who we are?

Do you love battles? 

Do you love seeing us struggle, lost like birds carried by gusts? 

Do you love the torment of separation?

I'll touch the wind to feel you and hear you give the answers. How would you paint the sky then? I'm sure like no other for that's when your heart will pour down love to dry all our tears!

You, paint the sky! I’ll touch the wind, and we’ll meet in the crown of the trees, which guard the dreaming forests!

(A.N. The story was inspired by John Two-Hawks' song, Paint the Sky. You can find his wonderful songs on his website or on Itunes or check his youtube channel Thank you for everything!)

© Copyright 2014 Irina Serban. All rights reserved

Thursday, 26 June 2014

Thoughts On Paper by Irina Serban - #quotes #sneak #peeks

Wednesday, 25 June 2014

Lightning In The Lime Tree © by Irina Serban

   There's a lime tree in front of my house. I don’t know if twenty years are much in the life of a tree, but this one surely wears them proudly. The shade it casts is so much searched for by all kinds of travellers be them four legged or two legged. Still, there’s nothing more captivating than the perfume spewing from its freshly blossomed flowers. Or perhaps there is!

      Right at the time when it blossoms, at a certain moment during the night, I can notice  shrieks of light passing over through its limbs. “It’s the cars! Just an optical illusion!” people would say. But I know it’s not true!

When everything falls asleep, even the tree itself, its crown starts rustling and swirling gently, its flowers sparkle like little stars, and the shrieks of light intensify. If you look closely, soon, you’ll discover the fairies guarding the lime tree fidgeting and giggling. I never could comprehend if the blossoms of the lime tree are their dresses, or if their dresses are in fact the tree’s inflorescence. These fairies are always there, hiding in its branches, even during the daytime, and they hear all the complaints of the passersby.

One night, they got up a storm within the poor lime tree. Their wands cast real lightnings, and I feared they might put on fire the tree. Alas, when they saw me watching them, I feared they might pour their fury on me. A rapid exchange of words followed up, of course, in their language, which I didn’t understand, and they arrived on my windowsill, leaving one of them behind to guard the tree. I assumed that must have been their Queen, seriousness and composure being read on her face lined by the most wonderful green hair, the vividness of the leaves, that kind of green.

Raising one brow, the fairies on my windowsill looked at me, pointed their wands at me, and one lightning touched my heart. It didn’t hurt, only something happened because I suddenly could understand their words. One of them said:

“I’m the fairy of the lime tree’s roots! Tell people this: Don’t complain you’re staying in one place! Think of the ones who don’t have a place of their own, or who can’t walk the distances you walk every day! And they are stronger and happier than you!"

And so, another fairy took a step forward and said:

“I’m the fairy of the lime tree’s trunk! Tell people this: Don’t complain when people in your life upset you, or do something that hurts you! Don’t you ever wish to never see them again! Think of all those who are lonely, or who can’t see the face of the ones they love! And they are stronger and happier than you!

“I’m the fairy of the leaves and blossoms!” said another, and she seemed the most beautiful of all. The perfume of her hair was inebriating. “Tell people this: Don’t complain about the hustle and noise of your life, and never wish for peace and quietness. Think of all those who long for someone to slam their door open, to interrupt their work, to make them change their plans unexpectedly. Think of all those who can never hear the sound of laughter, of crying, the sound of their loved ones’ voices! And they are stronger and happier than you!

They moved their wands and parted, leaving behind fairy dust that hovered right in front of me as if waiting for one last command to dissipate. When they reached the lime tree, their Queen said:

“And tell them this: Never pray for this or that, for you might get peace and quietude, solitude, time to travel everywhere, so on and hence forth, however, the price never comes cheap! Instead, when you rest in the shade of our tree, ask for strength and guidance to be able to learn the lessons and face everything the storms of life might bring! Be grateful for what you have, for where you are, for whom you have in your life!”

She moved the tip of the wand slightly, and all that fairy dust entered my eyes. It stung and made me wipe them presently. When I opened them again, it was morning, I was in my bed, facing the wide-open window. I couldn’t see the lightning in the lime tree anymore. The rustle of its leaves and its perfume might have got me into dreaming such a strange dream. Or was it?

© Copyright 2014 Irina Serban. All rights reserved

Wednesday, 28 May 2014

Speaking About Clouds © by Irina Serban


  I heard of a country where the forests were so thick that the ones inhabiting them had never experienced the joy of daylight. The air was so fresh and imbued with the smell of lush vegetation that the lungs hurt when breathing it in. The rivers were so furious in their flowing that not even the souls of the watchers resisted their moulding power.        

How could the people of such a place be other than warriors who stood tall and with dignity in front of any adversity, of any enemy? Yet, no man ever stood alone. Such scenery couldn’t have accepted the presence of man without the presence of an ounce of magic.

And men believed in magic.

As a reward for their faith, the Gods had sent the most powerful and just priest to them: a wise old man with long, white hair and a long, white beard. As time passed, many an enemy had gathered at the borders of their country. Therefore, the priest felt that he could no longer help men as he should, so, the Gods decided to give him the form of a Great White Wolf, which, whenever his fellow men needed help in battles, gathered all wolves of the forests and fought by their side. The Gods told him that he could still have his human form back, but the Great White Wolf decided to keep his wolf form forever, thus better helping his fellow humans. The only condition he imposed on them was to be given the freedom to kill the cowards and the greedy. Men hesitated, since as coward and as greedy some of them were, they still were human beings, and eventually, they granted the White Wolf permission to punish them but not to kill them.

One day, a great army approached the borders of the Wolves’ Country, and having heard of the brave warriors running with the wolves feared to attack them up front, so, they sent some of their people to instil doubt in the hearts of the warriors, telling them that a new age was approaching and that the Gods abandoned them, since they left a strong people such as theirs at the command of the beasts. Needless to say, that the coward started fearing for their fate at the mercy of the wolves, and the greedy started thinking of how much gold they would gain if they had killed the Great White Wolf and brought its head to the leaders of that great army. They began killing one wolf after another, until the ones, which remained gathered and ran deep into the mountain forests never to return at the call of their former brothers.

Betrayed by their fellow men, the Wolf People lost the battle. The cowards were still afraid, but now, they feared the new leaders. The greedy kept wanting more and more, never having enough, until the new masters put them to death, fed up of their intrigues.

The true Wolf People scattered all over the realm, baring such sadness in their hearts that made the sky cry and thunder for days in a row. Whenever they heard the wolves howling deep in the woods, their hearts curled inside with pain. The cracks of the branches, the whistle of the wind reminded them of the sound of the wolves’ steps and breath.

The Great White Wolf, seeing their sadness, decided to talk to them through the clouds.

“You have always the freedom to choose. Yet,  don’t blame yourselves for what you choose! Learn to live strong and with dignity through the effects of your choice! I chose to become a wolf to better help you. I'll die as one and my spirit will roam the skies as one never to know the human form again. Compassion is never punished, but it always has a price. You let them live; they betrayed you and broke our alliance as it used to be. But being a warrior is not in your strength and in your weapons or even in the wolves’ help. It is in you, and if you choose to live your life with integrity, honesty and righteousness, then, the wolves will always be part of you, because our bond does not belong to the visible world, but to the deeper, inner one. The time will come when we run together again as one army and claim the land of our ancestors back. Until then, you have to teach yourselves the ways of the wolves. Be just and proud, my people! Be strong! But above all, never let doubt eat away the magic you believe in! Never lose faith! Never bow your heads! A wolf is proud even when defeated. He knows that the lost battles better him as individual and strengthen the bond with his pack.

That was the last time, the Great White Wolf made his voice heard through the clouds.

The Wolf People are still here, among us, waiting for the right time, learning, striving to become as just and courageous as the wolves. And speaking about clouds: have you noticed the hazy, white ones that seem to be painted with soft brush strokes? Don’t they look like the wolves’ breathing vapours? They do to me! They are the ones who ran with our ancestors. They’re watching us, so, we’d better never fail them again!

(DISCLAIMER: The text from “As a reward for their faith…” to “…lost the battle.” is the summary of a legend belonging to the great people of Dacia—nowadays Romania. The Great White Wolf formerly was a priest sent by the God, Zalmolxis, to the aid of the humans. The Romanians were called ‘The Wolf People’ in ancient times, and our totem is the Wolf. The rest of the text is my tweak of the story having nothing to do with the original legend.)

© Copyright 2014 Irina Serban. All rights reserved 

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