When will the cold leave?

WHY DOES IT RAIN?

THE THIRSTY CROCODILE

Once upon a time, in a faraway land, there lived a crocodile. His home was a small oval pond, not very deep. He was rather a nice crocodile, for he shared his pond with a number of animals. Frogs, for instance, were very fine companions. Never once he thought of eating them.
Big mammals would also go and have a sip. The largest one to go there was an African elephant which nearly drank the whole pond. Fortunately it rained the day after and all went well.
This was a young crocodile. He was born shortly before the rain season, never having experienced unpleasantness, like thirst. After the rain season, however, came the dry season, and along with it, bright yellow copper covered the landscape. The water began to vanish from rivers and pools until finally his home pond started shrinking. The frogs where the first ones to die, their skins went pale and crispy as they said goodbye. The poor Crocodile shed his first crocodile, yet earnest, tears.
Soon he was alone in what was left of the pond, a little bit of water enough to cover his body. He craned around and saw nothing but hot waving air. This was not the time for crying, he realised, this was the time for thinking, and remembered his mother words: “Rumours are that if you walk straight in any direction you’ll reach the sea”. The Crocodile had never seen the sea, but figured it was something good to drink. No time to loose. Keeping the sun over his left side, he walked straight for seven days and seven nights, never stopping, never looking back. By dawn, on the eighth day, he found something wonderful. Dragging his scratched paws, enduring a last effort, he dived in a cool large pond. So big that in his heart there wasn’t a shadow of a doubt that this was the sea. He saw other crocodiles too, which welcomed him together with zebras, giraffes, lizards and frogs. Even the elephants could drink all they wanted and the pool would remain the same. The water was infinite, the crocodile thought. And he was happy.

I'VE ALWAYS WANTED TO LEARN LATIN

(Hoping to do it someday)

One of my earliest memories is going through my grandmother’s learning Latin book. On the first page her name and a poem, written in a very neat handwriting, goes more or less like this: “If this book come to be lost/ No doubt will also be found/ And for better being recognized/ It carries my name and my signature”. The second page shows a beautiful black and white picture of a roman teacher and his students in a roman palace.
Its already yellow pages show the passage of time, old like the language it teaches. They say that Latin is a dead language, that it is for ever gone like the roman culture. They may be wrong. Can a language like Latin truly die?
Latin is the parent of many modern languages, my own included. The roman structure holds my civilization – the roman law, the roman roads, roman bridges – all still very much in use, serving in modern days. Roman literature is also alive and serves us well. It teaches us the ways of the world, the ways of Man.
I’ve always nurtured a passion for Petronius, the roman philosopher who chose to be an outcast in the court of Nero. His values and principals were as firm as roman pillars – they still stand. His work can yet be read and studied but could and might be slowly changed by inaccurate translations. The best way to know a work is by reading the original. The safest way, I should say. And that is why I want to learn Latin. I want to read Mankind like it was, not like it is represented today. And by doing so, I shall encounter myself, the present and the future.
It is by learning what other people did and thought in the past that we learn about ourselves and this way we can better prepare our future. For as incredible and unimaginable as the past may be, it is as real as flesh and blood and must not be forgotten. "CREDANT POSTERI!" – May those who will come believe it was so.

THREE WICKED WITCHES AND THE GIANT CAT

Three wicked witches
Went to the Devil’s acre
In a moonless night,
Beyond the seventh grave,
They lighted up a fire
And danced beneath the stars.
A shrieking tune was heard
While magic wonders done.
A cat was near by,
With stripes and yellow eyes.
Swinging from a tree
It meowed for boiling rats.
The first wicked witch
Showed her tongue
And sprayed her stench.
The second wicked witch
Chocked with a bat
And barked a nervous cough,
Whilst the third wicked witch
Howled and burped her wrath.
But this was not a cat
That one can hold and pet.
It was tall and fat and mean,
Like a pile of broken bones,
And a pig that had too much.
The first wicked witch
Growled and scratched her feet.
The second wicked witch
Snored and looked for tics.
The third wicked witch
Spit and said all this:
“Now there’s a giant cat,
That serve our purpose could
Let’s pluck its eyes at once
And hang them from our ears.
Skin it too, we must,
To dandify ourselves
And cook its blood at last
To make our dinner soup”.
But the Lord of Blackness
Is as whimsical as sly.
The hunk had wished for more
Than mere boiling rats.
Stretching out its spine,
The cat began to smile.
And yawning like a cave,
It opened wide its jaws
And ate a lavish chunk.
The fire went on burning,
The graves were hushed and silent.
Gone were the witches,
For now and for all times.
Under the glittering stars
The cat fell asleep.

THE
LOVE AFFAIR OF THE TEAPOT
THAT WAS FEATURED LIKE A CHINA DUCK

Along the Street Of The Blue Lantern, right in the heart of Peking, a teapot travelled, featured like a china duck. In shape and colours it resembled a china duck, but from its beak out came tea and not quacking.
The china duck, that happened to be a teapot, was about to catch a boat – or rather a ship, I should say, as big as a floating continent. From the stern, the teapot gave, as the ship sailed away, a last look at the tiny eyed people gathered on the dock.
As the ship sang her howling tune, the teapot trembled and nearly cracked. It crossed the seas, leaking its tea at five o’clock sharp. A lustrous face and a shiny beak it kept, and mewling its love words to his sweetheart cup it found itself mocked by both saucer and spoon.
The oceans were crossed and blue became green. The teapot that was featured like a china duck trembled and nearly cracked as the ship was docked. Taken it was through the streets of England, to the heart of London.
Before it, a mansion stood, with towers and a bell that tolled at five o’clock sharp. Once more, the teapot leaked its tea into its no longer sweetheart cup and spilled a bit over both saucer and spoon.It found its ubiquitous true love when put away in a mirrored cabinet, looking to its left and to its right – another teapot that was featured like a china duck

SOMETIMES

Sometimes I set out,
Sometimes on a train.
Sometimes I'm out long,
Sometimes I'm right back.
Sometimes I'm all up,
Sometimes a bit flat.
Sometimes I dive in:
Sometimes from a step.
Sometimes I'm all happy,
Sometimes I feel blue.
Sometimes I find courage,
Sometimes I get yellow.
Sometimes I am me,
Sometimes just a shadow.