Jida’s Odyssey

(The tale of Jida, the rat who reached for the sky) In the green land of Ile fair, Where fruits were heavy and sweet was air, There lived a rat, both small and spry— And he did long to eat the sky. “I shall nibble clouds,” he’d boldly cry, “And chew the stars that hang on high. The moon I’ll swallow, cool and round, And keep the sun till none be found.” The beasts about did laugh and jeer: “Thou dream’st too high, thou foolish seer! Thou canst not reach the mango’s height— And wouldst thou chew the edge of night?” But Jida, full of daring grace, Gather’d bamboo and tied them in place. He stacked up gourds, and vines, and rope, And built a tower as tall as hope. He climb’d it slow, both day and night, Past sleepy bats and birds in flight. The moon look’d down with silver dread, And stars did whisper as he sped. At last he stood ’neath heaven’s dome, And took a bite—of cloud and gloam. But naught was there to crunch or chew— No taste, no shape, no breaking through. Then spake the sky with voice so still: “Thou hast come far, but not for fill.” Quoth Jida then, in trembling tone, “Then why hath I this path alone?” And soft replied the endless blue: “Some hungers are not made for you. Thou seekest not to eat nor gain— But rather dream, and bear the strain.” Then Jida smiled, his heart made light— He had not come for tooth or bite. He’d come to prove what none could see: That dreams are food for those made free. He climb’d back down, both proud and glad, And all the beasts stood still and sad. “Didst thou eat it?” the parrot cried. Quoth Jida, “Nay. But belief I tried.” “Belief in what?” the tortoise said. “That wonders feed the soul instead.” From that blest day, Jida ne’er sought To climb again with teeth or thought— But taught the young, both shy and bold, To dream of skies in stories told.