The Heart, The Mother Bird & The World

A Story For All Times

Once upon a time there was a melancholy heart, filled to bursting with the nasty purple weight of the world. Inside its dark chambers, malice sweated and stewed, and all the screams of murderous bloodshed sweated and stewed. Look at the dreadful, sluggish, sad heart! Look at the aorta and its miserable hollowness! The heart sat in silence, unable to move from its position on a cold, dank little rock in the middle of nowhere. Perhaps the heart was waiting for someone? Look at it, poor thing, fleshy with misery, lonely in that isolated rocky place! ‘There’s no hope!’ the melancholy heart bewailed, ‘and there’s no point in hoping!’

Just then, a little bird landed beside the heart, a bird of bright, glistening greens and blues, with a tail that splayed out like a tiny ocean wave. ‘What’s wrong with you?’ the little bird said, leaning in towards the heart and giving it an inquisitive peck. The heart remained silent and sluggish, stuck in its rocky place, immoveable. ‘You’re a laugh a minute,’ the little bird said, ‘what on earth’s the matter?’ But the melancholy heart didn’t answer and even though the little bird hopped and fanned its tail and sang a song, nothing could implore the melancholy heart to respond.

Meanwhile, the world groaned with its new burden of horror – the ransacking, the rape and the worst kinds of atrocities taking place in every country, in every town, in every body. The world was heavier than it had ever been, and every now and then, it choked on the black clouds of toxic smoke and bomb-blasts. What a terrible state the world was in!

‘If I tell you a story, will you at least turn to face me?’ the little bird asked the heart, ‘will you at least listen?’