~ The language of roses ~

Many valuable things that enrich and ennoble our lives, such as volatile rivers: coming, gurgling and disappear. Heavy rains of emotions and knowledge, drained trough of our life turn into raging torrent, which only a few hours again completely disappears. Somebody live his whole life, and, like a raging torrent, live only for a moment. Creating is boring to someone, and destruction is interesting and exciting. The tides of life often bring strange and unknown things to our shores. We accept some of them, and some reject; some remember, and most forget. Not so long ago, there was a universal language that we all speak, but we were quickly discarded and forgotten it. It resisted many times and revolutions, while it is not accidentally or intentionally deleted by man. Perhaps that language was only part of a period which had to be completed by the rules, still unknown to us. We, who were lucky enough to get acquainted with its beauties, were proud to have known it. We enjoyed the richness of its words and locutions. It differs from all the other languages because it was colored. We called it the language of roses. It was the only language in the world in which the unwritten rules were valid, and we did not learn it from the books. Its colors and meanings are all understood. It did not develop from any other language, but from us. We built it on the foundations of our own spiritual and moral values. Now, we just sometimes nostalgically remember it when we meet people who have the strength and courage to still cherish it. The paths of our souls are no longer covered with petals, but relentless hurricanes cluttering them with garbage and dust. While we were talking the language of roses, there were no poor souls: we were less explained, and more understanding; we were less promising and more fulfilled; we were less envious, but more supporting; we were less taking, and more giving; we were less pulled, and more planted; we were less going to fly, and more walking; we were less demanding, and more awarded; we were less wanted, but more realized; we were less praised, but successful. While we were talking the language of roses we were not falling to the bottom, because we were aware how important light is: we were more familiar with ourselves, rather than others; there were fewer acquaintances and more friends; we have been less laugh, but happier; we were less color and more painted; we were less expecting, but more received; we have been less had, but richer; we were less photographed, and the more remembered; we were less dreaming, and more created; we have been fewer crashes, and more built; we were less hurried, but more passed; we were less sleep, but more alert; we were less tailored and more sewed; we were less leaving and more coming. We talked with the heart while we were talking the language of roses. There was much more love and much fewer goodbyes. In complicated times, it was the last thread that connected us. Behind it, there were only silent witnesses of a beautiful time, which scents and colors remind us that once was the beautiful days.
The language of roses, author Suzana Stojanović, March 4, 2017