Unfolding of Hopes and Dreams

By: Lepan

 



The flowers of the Birds of Paradise threw crimson in the air like spiked rays of the sun. But they were no match with the spirited wind, swaying them like frozen birds in flight. Their leaves flapped in tatters, their stems bent like broken poles.

Photo by Joel Aliping

The other Birds of Paradise stood proud despite getting stripped, their colors ablaze under the sun. They knew for sure, the gardener would take care of what was left of them.

Poking underneath the Birds of Paradise, I found flowers, so pale and fragile. They looked haggard, but unlike the Birds of Paradise who stood secure, they struggled to keep planted on the ground.

They are the Ghost Flowers, thriving on decay, growing obscure on dense fungi, with no leaves and color; but they have their own story to tell. Unlike the other flowers, they were not cultivated by the gardener. They grew on their own, and they could be uprooted anytime. They crept out of the soil with determination in their hearts. They stretched their stems as long as they could muster. They strained to kiss the sunshine. They blushed with the warm sun and their blooms got tinged with purple.

I asked if fear is dominant in their hearts, as they could be weeded out anytime. But they said, "NO!"

They focused on enjoying their moment. As soon as their heads broke the ground, their buds unfolded with their HOPES and DREAMS. They lived their lives in a moment of discovery. They tried to reach the best of their potentials by stretching themselves out from their flimsy roots. It took much of their efforts but these paid off. The taller they got, they discovered that they have a better the view. They basked in the sunshine, danced with the wind, drank the morning dew, and flirted with the bees and the butterflies.

Time passed...

Their short, full life had been spent. The flowers started to wither and the stems went dry. But as they drooped back to the earth, their seeds popped out. On their own, they burried themselves to grow their own roots.These would soon break the ground. Just as the first flowers did. And  moments of POSSIBILITIES would continue to unfold with their HOPES and DREAMS.

Out of their depths, I hear these words:

 "If I were to reach for anything, I should not wish for wealth and power, but for the passionate sense of the potential, for the eye which, ever young and ardent, sees the possible... " [SKurkigaard]