The Sheath …

The scabbard rattles; a few rays of light enter the sheath. They dance so joyously on the flawless blade. Will no one ever see their dance? The sword remains sheathed; unused. The blade wrought from metal forged in the core of the earth. Its edge fashioned as sharp as the hawk’s shriek, its balance made as perfect as the petals of a full bloom. And then left in the darkness of the sheath; to wither with neglect, to grow blunt, to rust…

“O Creator why did you forge me with such precision? Why did you give me this strength? Draw me once! Give me a purpose and I will unleash the power you created me from. Let me fight. Test my edge.”

The scabbard hears the cry. It envies the luster of the blade that it hides from the world. It cuts out the light from reaching the blade. It tries to suppress the lust of the blade for battle. The scabbard fears the test that the blade invokes. For if the sword breaks in its battle, the purpose of the sheath will be lost. It will become just an empty shell.

The scabbard has forgotten the words of his Creator. Its purpose was not in serving itself. Its purpose was to nurture the sword till its time came to be drawn. But it wrongs itself. It kills the luster of the blade…it dulls its edge…and the time will come when the sword breaks with rust. And the scabbard will have been its own undoing.

Comments

Nabeel said…
Yeah so this is an analogy of the battle between the mind and the soul. So no flaming over me loving swords and glorifying killing and stuff...
Sun Oct 16, 11:32:00 PM GMT+8
Albatross said…
it's been such a long time since anyone posted
Tue Oct 25, 10:38:00 PM GMT+8
Nabeel said…
routine's gone to hell...well any semblance of it that i had in the first place...
Mon Oct 31, 07:40:00 AM GMT+8
Albatross said…
hmph...yeah...me finding it hard to post now too...great post btw
Tue Nov 01, 12:18:00 AM GMT+8
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