Showing posts with label literary prose. Show all posts
Showing posts with label literary prose. Show all posts

Wednesday, May 19, 2010

acres of diamonds

Excerpt from Acres of Diamonds:

Chapter 1

There once lived not far from the River Indus an ancient Persian by the name of Ali Hafed.

Ali Hafed owned a very large farm, that he had orchards, grain-fields, and gardens; that he had money at interest, and was a wealthy and contented man. He was contented because he was wealthy, and wealthy because he was contented.

One day there visited that old Persian farmer one of those ancient Buddhist priests, one of the wise men of the East. He sat down by the fire and told the old farmer how this world of ours was made. He said that this world was once a mere bank of fog, and that the Almighty thrust His finger into this bank of fog, and began slowly to move finger around, increasing the speed until at last He whirled this bank of fog into a solid ball of fire. Then it went rolling through the universe, burning its way through other banks of fog, and condensed the moisture without, until it fell in floods of rain upon its hot surface, and cooled the outward crust. Then the internal fires bursting outward through the crust threw up the mountains and hills, the valleys, the plains and prairies of this wonderful world of ours. If this internal molten mass came bursting out and cooled very quickly it became granite; less quickly copper, less quickly silver, less quickly gold, and, after gold, diamonds were made.

Said the old priest, "A diamond is a congealed drop of sunlight."

Now that is literally scientifically true, that a diamond is an actual deposit of carbon from the sun. The old priest told Ali Hafed that if he had one diamond the size of his thumb he could purchase the country, and if he had a mine of diamonds he could place his children upon thrones through the influence of their great wealth.

Ali Hafed heard all about diamonds, how much they were worth, and went to his bed that night a poor man. He had not lost anything, but he was poor because he was discontented, and discontented because he feared he was poor. He said, "I want a mine of diamonds," and he lay awake all night.

Early in the morning he sought out the priest. I know by experience that a priest is very cross when awakened early in the morning, and when he shook that old priest out of his dreams, Ali Hafed said to him: "Will you tell me where I can find diamonds?"

"Diamonds! What do you want with diamonds?"

"Why, I wish to be immensely rich."

"Well, then, go along and find them. That is all you have to do; go and find them, and then you have them."

"But I don't know where to go."

"Well, if you will find a river that runs through white sands, between high mountains, in those white sands you will always find diamonds."

"I don't believe there is any such river."

"Oh yes, there are plenty of them. All you have to do is to go and find them, and then you have them." Said Ali Hafed, "I will go."

So he sold his farm, collected his money, left his family in charge of a neighbor, and away he went in search of diamonds. He began his search, very properly to my mind, at the Mountains of
the Moon. Afterward he came around into Palestine, then wandered on into Europe, and at last when his money was all spent and he was in rags, wretchedness, and poverty, he stood on the
shore of that bay at Barcelona, in Spain, when a great tidal wave came rolling in between the pillars of Hercules, and the poor, afflicted, suffering, dying man could not resist the awful temptation to cast himself into that incoming tide, and he sank beneath its foaming crest, never to rise in this life again.

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Chapter 2

The man who purchased Ali Hafed's farm one day led his camel into the garden to drink, and as
that camel put its nose into the shallow water of that garden brook, Ali Hafed's successor noticed a curious flash of light from the white sands of the stream.

He pulled out a black stone having an eye of light reflecting all the hues of the rainbow. He took the pebble into the house and put it on the mantel which covers the central fires, and forgot all about it.

A few days later this same old priest came in to visit Ali Hafed's successor, and the moment he opened that drawing-room door he saw that flash of light on the mantel, and he rushed up to it, and shouted: "Here is a diamond! Has Ali Hafed returned?"

"Oh no, Ali Hafed has not returned, and that is not a diamond. That is nothing but a stone we found right out here in our own garden."

"But," said the priest, "I tell you I know a diamond when I see it. I know positively that is a diamond."

Then together they rushed out into that old garden and stirred up the white sands with their fingers, and lo! there came up other more beautiful and valuable gems than the first. "Thus," said the guide to me, and, friends, it is historically true, "was discovered the diamond-mine of Golconda, the most magnificent diamond-mine in all the history of mankind, excelling the Kimberly itself. The Kohinoor, and the Orloff of the crown jewels of England and Russia, the largest on earth, came from that mine."

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Moral of the Story

Had All Hafed remained at home and dug in his own cellar, or underneath his own wheatfields, or in his own garden, instead of wretchedness, starvation, and death by suicide in a strange land, he would have had acres of diamonds.

For every acre of that old farm, yes, every shovelful, afterward revealed gems which since have decorated the crowns of monarches.

Tuesday, September 01, 2009

the rose


As a Rose absorbs the nutrients it feeds on and as it thrives to see the sun as it must to survive......
the Rose becomes more beautiful and in turn will provide sunshine to those who can behold it's beauty.
Fortunate is the Man who can see the Rose within a Woman.
Blessed is the man who this Woman holds to be her nutrient, her sunshine.

-- Art Denton

Wednesday, August 12, 2009

the you attitude

It is not about what we accumulate
But what we give

It is not about what we learn
But what we teach

It is not about what we build for ourselves
But whose lives we built

It is not about me
It's about you

Thursday, July 16, 2009

The way to happiness

Keep your heart free from hate,
your mind from worry.
Live simply,
Expect little,
Give much.
Fill your life with love.
Scatter sunshine.
Forget self, think of others.
Do as you would be done.

- by H.C. Mattern -

Tuesday, May 05, 2009

Is love a noun or a verb?

To a person who is reactive, love is a noun.
To a person who is proactive, love is a verb.

Sunday, May 11, 2008

the email


He smiled as he journaled the last entry of the email and clicked on "Save" instead of "Send" as there was no internet connection. He powered down and slotted his slim laptop together with a fully charged up battery into the pockets of his big luggage bag. That was the last item to be packed before he took a final look at the apartment he had been staying for the last 7 years. He would be home in about 10 hours time. It was a bittersweet feeling. Bitter to be leaving the country that he had grown to love so much. Bitter to say farewell to friends. Sweet to be reuniting with his mom and dad soon. Sweet because he will get to meet her soon.

The email. Yes, the email was addressed to her. It had become his daily routine to write long emails to her. There was so much to tell her - happy thoughts, sad events, exciting happenings, etc... the list is endless. Just about anything and everything. Yes, he will continue that unfinished email on the plane. Cos he knew that she would be really worried to be missing his emails for a week, maybe two, since he would need some time to get settled when he is back home.

10 hours of flight. 10 hours of boredom. And how glad was he that he had his battery fully charged up in anticipation of such a situation. And so with that little cramped seat for his tall frame, he happily set his lappy on his lap. So, that was probably how the laptop got it's name upon invention. Or so he thought to himself. But nonetheless, that thought only momentarily flashed across his mind and he brushed it off almost immediately. He had no other time to think about other things. His fingers busy tapping on the little keyboard. And whatever that came to his mind, he just typed on. It felt as real as though he was talking to her. Yes, her. She was the only thing that occupied almost every cell in the brain, so congested that he barely had time to think of other things, except for breathing.

Is this what people call love? He had no idea and he couldn't care less. Remember, he did not have much spaces left in his brain cells. The fingers just rattled on and on and on and on.... 3 pages... 4 pages... 5 pages... He typed until his battery almost went flat. But he was cautious to save his email every now and then. Even mentioning in his email that his battery is going to go flat anytime. He just wanted to make full use of his time to journal the happenings around him to tell her each and every detail. That was all that was on his mind.

Little did he know how much that one-week-journalistic-email meant to her. She read through the 5-page email in one breathe. It almost left her breatheless. She was so touched that she literally forgot to breathe. The emotions were so overwhelming. She read and re-read that email at least four times, staring at the screen. She wished for time to stop so that she could enjoy that moment of intense emotion forever. The kind of emotions that stirred within her was something that she had never felt before. She understood it all. That was all that it mattered. She closed her eyes in an attempt to fight back the tears, yet one drop escaped and trickled down her cheek. Soon, the rest fell uncontrollably.

Tuesday, May 22, 2007

the empty carriage


The carriage door so welcoming

The velvety scarlet seat so alluring


The desire of every girl in town

Adorning a perfect shimmering crown

Looking awesome in a dazzling gown


Alas, but the carriage is empty

Awaiting the arrival of thy princess

The princess was there

With a single glass slipper

Alone
~ by Jerlynn ~