The Unique World of a Literati
- goodzzz31
- Sep 8, 2020
- 5 min read
Zaldy Carreon De Leon Jr.
Long as the history of humanity, there ever such men and women who started to write their quest for creativity, quenching their brains for words that does not exist, relying on limited vocabulary, but the extracts of the human soul is just as abundant as the treasures of the world, and yet there is a corpus of unknown emotions from these people who are not able to express themselves for lack of words, in spite of their genius ideas repeatedly lurking on their hearts, knocking on their faces what would be the next steps – for instance, they meld on rocks, reiterating the thoughts of their minds by drawing the message that intends to tell a story – given that there is a formality and inventions of words, but nay, the happiness inside him is, not to say forbidden, no longer at the proper mood, but is incomplete in the sense that he must find the way to reveal the story may be through his drawings, or through his nature sounds, glottal voice, hand signals, and other sounds, which has gone through various renditions and meanings that made him happy afterwards, with more or less, but a smile that has been squeezed from his unexpressed happiness – a smile that made one the happiest person on earth indeed, as it goes along the world with his ideals one step at a time, one small step but a giant leap to its future generations, as we can see what has just happened to us today – the contributions of the past has just made our vocabulary rich, our passion enriched, and our aspirations reached, in a way or another, but in one way and another, it has become so unique, powerful, and strong that nations are moved, people reacted – sometimes, overly crying and laughing – but most especially, the words became a living testament to the reality and the world of the first literati, who never went to see what has happened today in the world he is once familiar with, though scant and hard, his very steps took the corpus of humanity to a world so rich and abundant that not even creativity itself can ever stop from moving, acting, and expressing, though in sadness or in happiness, the world exists as a familiar beauty to all generations – a child with the rhymes, a teen with a novel, an adult with a textbook, or a genius making his own books, the spirit of the first literati never stop, for as one of my poems say: “Flay my thigh, and I still move,/ Cut off my tongue, my ink shall prove,/ Remove my heart, my spirit flung,/ Burn all my art, my love cannot be unsung,/ A poet am I, mighty is his soul,/ Ink is just material, his voice is his all” is just an example of how delighted a literati is in his craft, for as it goes along the way expressing every bit of words and rhymes, he is not just expressing his own words but the sentiments of the people around him, feeling it with his own sensitive and delighted heart, the soul that is able to smell the joy and the sadness, the exuberant lightness of a smile and the rampant reverberations and echoes of the heart through the tears which made the expression of purest contentment, the seldom experience spark in the heart, the introduction of a new chapter, the birth of a new star, the unfolding of the new hero, the blooming of the first flowers, the first raining and the dew of May, the first kiss, the beauty of the sunrise and the morning sky, the feathers of a peacock, the seeds of mahogany and the sycamore, the colors of the winds, the cold waters from the mountain springs, the joy of a mother who has just delivered her first baby, the foundations of the earth, the happiness of all the sages from ending their books, the first light of the sun, and the millisecond that made someone win the gold in the Olympics among others are just few of the example of how happiness is rendered, for as this happiness grows from his heart, he never stops, he never end the cheers in his heart, and he will venture the different passageways as to the exuberant lightness of a smile that comes out from the heart to the lips mirrored in the eyes of another as it reflected on them, and the rampant reverberations and echoes of the heart through the tears which made the expression of purest contentment of joy or pain – things we just do not understand until we ourselves experienced –, thus, the seldom experienced spark in the heart allured by love, or faith, or hope, the spark that made the world go crazy, a literati with his unending sentences, the introduction of a new chapter that made one’s name glorious, fame and even rich, the birth of a new star that clad the others towards the birth of a new era, the unfolding of the new hero after several battles from war, boxing, job, or a pandemic, the blooming of the first flowers in the most splendid way Cleopatra will be astounded of, as if the world has begun to glorify even her, the first raining of the east winds, and the dew of May that redefined people’s thought towards faith and mysticism, the first kiss of a young boy that flutters the heart to go pompous and proud, the beauty of the sunrise and the morning sky that reminds us how we must enjoy everything in life as long as we live, the feathers of a peacock that reminds us the divinity is always there for us fanning with care and beauty, the seeds of mahogany and the sycamore that grew to the top of our ideals and goals, reaching for the clouds and the tip of the mountains, the colors of the winds where Pocahontas sung with the mother tree reminding us how we must look at the world, the cold waters from the mountain springs that made the throat of the bard and minstrels beauteous and ever-entertaining, the joy of a mother who has just delivered her first baby that she will love for the rest of her life, the foundations of the earth affirming God’s glory in all of the countries, the happiness of all the sages from ending their books after a long and tiring nights and busy days, the first light of the sun for new love, a new hope, and a renewed vision of faith for God, and the millisecond that made someone win the gold in the Olympics are just some of the things that made a literati happy – for, “In my study, cradle of all knowledge,/ I encountered a small book dust’d and aged,/ Its pages were brittle, almost to worn,/ With a careful hand, it again was born,/ I open it slow like sloth in an oak,/ It was penned by an anonymous folk,/ The title is lost and the date was gone,/ It was a rather rare and precious stone,/ Curious soul am I, and my works were ceased,/ This, I think is better than my thesis!/ Oh people, armchair sages, wise and old,/ I found in my study a work untold,/ I called on my grandpa, the oldest kin,/ About this tome I implored of him,/ But my grandpa forgot all in his past,/ Except some memories of love and trust,/ He told me to write instead of a rhyme,/ That would circulate in many tongues and time,” I told within me, I must consider a literati the happiest person on earth, well, for more than anything else, this is my unique world.
Credits to the award-winning literati and friend, Hareem Faitmah, CEO of Litlight
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