One
upon a time, in the last year of Madrasah Ibtidaiyah (MI), I found a small
book titled “Taman Sang Nabi” (The Garden of The Prophet), a lyrical
prose by Kahlil Gibran, a magnificent poet from Lebanon. It belonged to
my older brothers—either Hermanto (alm.) or Muhli—in which they bought
at Pondok Pesantren Annuqayah Nirmala. I forgot whose book belonged to because
they were in the same hobby as books collector and also as bookworm and
they entirely affected me in loving books. I must say thanks to them.
I remembered well the book: black cover with pinked-orb picture
just like an earth or maybe like a flower sheath. I don’t know exactly.
That book embraced me with a lot of something strange and difficult to
understand at that time. It depicted well a small piece of autumn with marvelous
scenery of powerful words as Gibran always did with their outstanding
works. I was wrapped with a romantic but abstract and imaginary
background: Mushtofa, the prophet seeking the truth
in miles-away distance. There, alongside the sojourning path of the
protagonist Mushtofa, I recognized autumn with magical touches under
Gibran’s hand who beautifully tucked a breath of it; how trees stood still; how leaves fell down into the
earth; how winds jolted the leaves and nestled them on the ground; and
how Mushtofa (or Gibran himself) felt during his pursuit of
somethingness! Yes, I felt those to wonderfully imagine such kind of
depiction of autumn, almost in all Gibran's works.
Then, the other masterpieces come into my desk: Orhan Pamuk, William Shakespeare, Robert Frost, William Blake, O Henry, Akutagawa, Najib Mahfouz and other writers like Rainer Maria Rilke and also songs praising the autumn. Of course I will never forget November Rain by Gun 'N Rose. I was impressed with this piece of poem below:
"Now cast your shadow on the sundials,
and loose the winds on the open fields."
(by Rilke ~ Autoumn Day)
Today I feel it deeply here in Anatolia peninsula. I take off my
shoes to directly feel how wind touches my foot and unites it into the
ground. Yes I admit this all as very romantic season as people always
impress of autumn time. But I feel more than just a romantic time
embodied by the season. It’s melancholy. Yes romanticism of
melancholy!
