Monsoon, my son, whom do you weep for?

You know I’m happy, don’t you, where I am?

You breathe out gusts of wind so wild and lethal,

They scream that you remember who I am


I am the tree that stands alone inside your anger

A ghostly shape inside your ghastly storm

I am the river flowing through the mountains

Your clouds can’t reach – a kingdom of my own


I am a peasant in the field and god of nature

I am in every thing you water with your rains

I’m happy and I’m proud that you weep for me

It tells me you remember who I am

8 thoughts on “Remember

    1. Thanks for your response, Carl! I agree with you, yet, I think that both the raging monsoon and the first rainbow after months of rain are manifestations of what nature is, the many things it is: good and bad, beautiful and painful.

      It is probably possible to love the monsoon the same way one could love the most terrible person in the world. What if that person is one’s son? One’s mother? Love and nature can’t always be trusted to abide by human moral codes.
      I believe it’s up to us to make the job of remembering our good deeds, our beauty, easy for those who love us.

    1. Great example, thank you :)! The mother in ‘Beowulf’ did love her monster-son. That kind feelings – motherly and felial love – are, in a way, beyond judgement, beyond good and evil.

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