A Hunger for Stories

As a boy I heard the same story from my father again and again:
My grandfather hadn’t left behind for his son any kind of plot
Where seeds could be planted that would yield a garden full of yummy stories.
In the same vein, a hunger for stories engrossed me in my childhood and teens. 

I know that all ye still to be born children
Will cry glumly like I once had, hungry for stories.
That is why I’d braved cresting, roaring waves,
Cooked soups of stories on immigrant cookers on wintry nights;
Diving to the bottom of the sea, I’d seen how marine species
Dance to the rhythm of hidden waves,
And write on whale bodies of the sea!
From empty spaces, I captured wild African stories of desert bisons;
Standing in the chilling North Pole blizzards, 
I was able to divine stories of stormy nights;
From Gibraltar, I fetched the bright light of new stories
Which I then strewed on Casablanca’s ancient eyes!

Out of my sweat and blood, I create endless stories for coming generations
For I know that even though all other causes of hunger may die, 
What will only survive in the dark is the hunger for more and more stories. 

From wintry prairies to grey Savannahs,
And in all pathways of the world,
I’ve been sowing seeds of new stories every day.
Climbing down from the lap of juicy fruit-filled gardens,
Seated on the soft mat that is earth,
They keep developing the craving for new stories endlessly.
Endlessly, the hunger for untold stories
Vibrate all sleepy pathways of the world!