Snails of Secret Garden In Winter

Tanka poem about winter season and lovers snails and animals. Description of snails and nature in winter after loss of my mother.

"Study nature, love nature, stay close to nature. It will never fail you." Frank Lloyd Wright

“If you have men who will exclude any of God’s creatures from the shelter of compassion and pity, you will have men who will deal likewise with their fellow men.” St. Francis of Assisi

"Life is as dear to a mute creature as it is to man. Just as one wants happiness and fears pain, just as one wants to live and not die, so do other creatures. " His Holiness The Dalai Lama

"Even a snail will eventually reach its destination."'  Gail Tsukiyama

"We get wise by asking questions, and even if these are not answered, we get wise, for a well-packed question carries its answer on its back as a snail carries its shell."- James Stephens

 Survivors, snails sharing bread and food.

 

At the end of winter they become fat.

 

Living with cats and turtles in the garden.

 

The snails share the same bread, blessed by God.

 

Under the same roof in our secret garden.

 

With small bodies they carry a heavy load on their backs.

 

Hiding under trees to escape the rain.

 

Drinking fresh water after finishing their meal.

 

Watching nature protect them from danger.

 

With their retractable antennas, their eyes,

 

Long and short, they sense danger

 

Smelling the elixir of earth and oranges.

 

Sneaking slowly between the leaves and orange tree.

 

Competing with the turtles, they finish last

 

But they arrive at their destination.

 

Turning into a fat mollusk

 

Alas fragile, in their tiny bodies.

 

The creatures will come to their end.

 

Under the feet of humans who destroy the beautiful nature.

 

Under the care of my mother, satiated.

 

God does not forget her in heaven.

 

Everything will come back to her after she is taken care of animals.

 

By the hand of god sacrificing the wilderness.

By the hand of my mother, she transmits his emanation.

Through this poem I pass on his legacy.

 

 

 

Loubna Khriss