Bitter-Sweet Surrender

I have not written an exposition for a long time now. It isn’t due to lack of subject matter or insufficient time to write one. It is more on my inclination to write poems rather than essays. Somehow, words are coming and flowing like a stream when I am in the mood for poetry, but when it comes to writing an essay, my vocabulary runs out. But after reading a novel by Kahlil Gibran, The Broken Wings, I found myself enthralled by the magic of his descriptions, the clarity of emotions, the lilting and rhythmic flow of his compositions. At this moment, I am still a captive of his haunting melody of emotions, the romantic wooing of the wind of love and despair, the bitter-sweet surrender of love meant not to be, the agonizing realization of defeat.


I wrote a poem, Broken Wings before I have read this novel. A good friend in Multiply commented about it and mentioned this novel of the same title by Kahlil Gibran. I don’t intend to write a book review. I am here to give voice to the echoes of my heart, how the story poured a bucket of tears from my eyes, how my heart was torn into pieces by the agony of death and separation, the bitter-sweet surrender to the Will of the Almighty.


Love is magical. Time isn’t a factor to realize one is caught in the web of love. Sometimes, no words are needed to say how one feels for another. Just the meeting of the eyes or the soft voice can get into the deep recesses of the hearts. The lovers in the novel knew this kind of chemistry. The first time they met, they knew they were in another plane, in a realm of emotional entrapment. Fate has always played tricks on lovers. Lady-love was set to marry a guy not of her choice but chosen for her. Had I been in her shoes, my world would certainly crumble to the ground as it did to her. Oh, to have found each other but barred to taste the sweetness of that love is utter devastation. In the brief time they spent together before the marriage, their love grew more like a rose in a garden that gradually emerged from the bud, expelling its fragrance from within. The bond grew more after the marriage for she found her strength in his pure adoration and devotion. He was her rock to lean upon, the fresh air from the confinement of her castle of imprisonment, the clean water of spring to refresh her slowly deteriorating body. For him, seeing her was always a new day, a ray of sunshine from the all-winter time of his loneliness and solitary journey. Her presence was like a perfume covering the pungent smell of the cruel society. Her smile was a lilting song taking him out of the dungeons of despair. Her image was that of a goddess of humility, simplicity, obedience, and purity. But as he looked into the expressively deep and melancholy eyes, his mangled heart wished he could hold her, take her in his arms and take her away to a far-flung corner of the world where no one could reach and separate their hearts. But it would not be. Saying good-bye had come.


In that era where women did not count but treated like commodities, her essence as a woman must be to bear an heir. Thus, she implored the Lord to grant her wish. Married to a man who neither loved nor treated her kindly, she still wanted to give him a child. Though frail in countenance, she gave him a baby boy. God in his infinite love and mercy did not want her to suffer any longer. She and her baby boy were called to be with Him a few hours after her delivery. In the casket laid the mother and the son. All these, he witnessed, tears rolling down he knelt and laid a flower on her piece of land where she was buried six feet below the ground.


You would say I am a hopeless romantic. I admit I am one. In this time of crisis, one would certainly go for happy endings. My heart is heavy for I always want relationships to last a life time. Break-up stories make me a sob baby.