Old Man

They say…
He is wiser than Socrates
An ancient soul
Whose livelihood surpasses a century
Wrinkles deeply crease his leathered skin
As his beard, like pallid velvet,
Falls upon his chest like a silken shroud
His layered robes hang from his frail body
As he sits rigidly upon his public throne

They say…
He is a hermit
Humble and enigmatic
Who dwells upon a serene mountaintop
Overlooking crystallized waters
And emerald meadows
Folks migrate from far and yonder
Only to seek his divine guidance 

They say…
He is the creator of wisdom
The possessor of infinite knowledge –
Shaman of the unknown
And saviour of the downtrodden
His calloused hands hold the power to heal
And his voice owns the power to unveil
All the hidden secrets of the past

They say…
He is the reincarnation of a man
Who once belonged to the village of Nazareth
And, like him, the old man can too awaken
All that is lifeless and forgotten
Just with one mellow breath

I say…
O’ wise one
Prove to me
That you are
What they say you are
Prove to me, O’ wise one
That you can bring to life the thousands
Who have drowned!
Prove to me, O’ wise one
That you can heal the lives of millions
Who have burned!
Prove to me, O’ wise one
That you can salvage the lives of billions
Who have suffered!

I wait, and wait, and I wait
For you to answer me
As I walk like a nomad with the wrath of thirst
Among the tyrants, hypocrites, and the oppressed

Do not abandon me, O’ wise one
For I will lose myself in the deepest oceans of pain

Do not ignore my pleas, O’ holy one
For I will forever disappear in the deepest tunnels of misery

I wait…

© September 2010

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