Author and poet Rabbie Serumula. File image.
Johannesburg - The giant had grown tired of always being the bigger person. It was a heavy burden, carrying the weight of the world on their shoulders. They are descendants of Atlas, doomed to hold up the heavens for eternity. But unlike the myth, the giant couldn't shrug off their burden.
No matter how much they tried to be kind and understanding, they were always expected to be the forgiving one, the one who saw the good in others. The giant longed for a moment of respite, for a chance to be small and not have to bear the weight of everyone else's problems. They wished for a chance to simply be, without the pressure of always being the better person.
They wish they could fly, like a cloud; a weightless being floating aimlessly in the sky, carried by the winds of change. Free from the constraints of gravity. Drifting from one place to another, taking in the world from an aerial perspective. But sometimes, unbeknownst to the giant, the cloud felt like it was just going through the motions, like it was just a passive participant in the grand scheme of things.
It longed for a purpose, to be more than just a fleeting apparition in the sky. The cloud dreamed of making a lasting impact, of leaving a mark on the world. It wanted to be a source of life and hope, to bring rain and nourishment to the earth below. The cloud yearned to be more than just a mere observer, to be an active player in the game of life, like the full moon, shining brightly in the sky, illuminating the world below. A constant presence, an ever-watchful eye in the darkness.
As far as the cloud knew, the full moon was not just a mere observer, it had a profound influence on the world. It caused tides to rise and fall, and it elicited strange behaviour in the creatures of the night. The full moon was both beautiful and mysterious, a symbol of the cyclical nature of life. A reminder that everything in the world was connected, and that every action had consequences. The full moon was a celestial totem divulging that sometimes, even in the darkest of nights, there was still a glimmer of hope, a light to guide us through the darkness.
But how the full moon envied the soil as the foundation of life, a rich tapestry of minerals and organic matter. The birthplace of countless plants and animals, and it sustained them all. The soil was both a giver and a taker, providing sustenance on one hand, and on another claiming the dead as its own. It was a constant cycle of birth and death, of growth and decay.
The soil was a testament to the power of nature and the resilience of the planet, and it would continue to be so, long after humans had disappeared from the face of the earth.
To the reader; no one is a better version of YOU! Sleeping giant.
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