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When you are so full of sorrow that you can't walk, can't cry anymore, think about the green foliage that sparkles after the rain. when the daylight exhausts you, when you hope a final night will cover the world, think about the awakening of a young child.

-Omar Khayyam

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When You Are So Full Of Sorrow

Omar Khayyam

When you are so full of sorrow that you can't walk, can't cry anymore, think about the green foliage that sparkles after the rain. when the daylight exhausts you, when you hope a final night will cover the world, think about the awakening of a young child.

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    <p style="font-size: 1.2rem; font-style: italic; margin-bottom: 10px;">"when you are so full of sorrow that you can&amp;#039;t walk, can&amp;#039;t cry anymore, think about the green foliage that sparkles after the rain. when the daylight exhausts you, when you hope a final night will cover the world, think about the awakening of a young child."</p>
    <footer style="font-size: 1rem; font-weight: bold;">— Omar Khayyam</footer>
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Topic

Children Rain Night

More From Omar Khayyam

And what does the rain say at night in a small town, what does the rain have to say? who walks beneath dripping melancholy branches listening to the rain? who is there in the rain’s million-needled blurring splash, listening to the grave music of the rain at night, september rain, september rain, so dark and soft? who is there listening to steady level roaring rain all around, brooding and listening and waiting, in the rain-washed, rain-twinkled dark of night?

Let the rain kiss you. let the rain beat upon your head with silver liquid drops. let the rain sing you a lullaby. the rain makes still pools on the sidewalk. the rain makes running pools in the gutter. the rain plays a little sellp-song on our roof at night- and i love the rain.

And then the spirit brings hope, hope in the strictest christian sense, hope which is hoping against hope. for an immediate hope exists in every person; it may be more powerfully alive in one person than in another; but in death every hope of this kind dies and turns into hopelessness. into this night of hopelessness (it is death that we are describing) comes the life-giving spirit and brings hope, the hope of eternity. it is against hope, for there was no longer any hope for that merely natural hope; this hope is therefore a hope contrary to hope.

And talking about dark! you think dark is just one color, but it ain't. there're five or six kinds of black. some silky, some woolly. some just empty. some like fingers. and it don't stay still, it moves and changes from one kind of black to another. saying something is pitch black is like saying something is green. what kind of green? green like my bottles? green like a grasshopper? green like a cucumber, lettuce, or green like the sky is just before it breaks loose to storm? well, night black is the same way. may as well be a rainbow.

Sometimes when i'm alone i cry, cause i am on my own. the tears i cry are bitter and warm. they flow with life but take no form i cry because my heart is torn. i find it difficult to carry on. if i had an ear to confide in, i would cry among my treasured friend, but who do you know that stops that long, to help another carry on. the world moves fast and it would rather pass by. then to stop and see what makes one cry, so painful and sad. and sometimes... i cry and no one cares about why.

Towns are full of people, houses full of tenants, hotels full of guests, trains full of travelers, cafés full of customers, parks full of promenaders, consulting-rooms of famous doctors full of patients, theatres full of spectators, and beaches full of bathers. what previously was, in general, no problem, now begins to be an everyday one, namely, to find room.

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