Friday, May 11, 2012

Old Man of The Desert

 
It was many days
Before I found him,
The old man
Of the Desert.

I had heard of him
In my master's household
And with his permission
I sought the old man.

I came upon his tent
In an encampment.
It sat on the edge
And was easy to find.

As evening settled in
I entered the tent
And sat across from him
As it was custom.

He looked up at me
With unseeing eyes
And nodded at me,
Acknowledging me.

With measured grace,
He began to write
Upon an empty scroll
And I sat watching.

The light of a new day
Crept into the sky
When he had completed
The story he was writing,
The story of my future.

Alas, I could not read
And asked him
What he had written,
What was the future
He had foretold.

"My child,
I know not what I write,
I am but a tool
Used by your soul,
By your spirit."

With that said,
He bade my farewell
And made his way
To his sleeping quarters,
Dismissing me.

On the journey home,
I asked many
A learned man and woman
To read the scroll for me.

Each read it
But refused to tell me
What they had read,
Saying that it was not
A story they wished to tell.

I was greeted by my master
Upon my return and
After I was settled,
I sat with him over tea.

After much pleasantries
And idle chatter,
I asked him to read
The scroll, my future.

He read it once,
Then twice and
Without warning
He tore it up and
Fed it to the flames.

I honoured my master
So much that
I did not say a word,
Swallowing my surprise.

Over the years that followed,
We spoke naught
Of my journey, the old man
Or the scroll that told my future.

In those years,
I lived a full life,
I learned to read
And blossomed under
The tutelage of my master.

It was only as he laid
In his  death bed
That my master spoke
Of the scroll and
What he did that day.

"Many years ago,
You presented my a scroll
That was to tell your future
And I destroyed it."

I said nothing,
Choosing to stare
At the floor.

"Have you lived
A good life?"

Looking up,
I assured my master
That I had lived very well.

"According to the scroll,
You were to die
Two years after that day."

I gasped,
My master had no use
For deception, always
Choosing to tell the truth.

"My son had sought out
The old man of the desert.
Unlike you, he could read
But like yours, his scroll
Spoke of his death."

"He tried so hard
To avoid it that
He walked into
What was destined
In his scroll."

"I did not want that for you,
So I destroyed your scroll."
His breath became laboured.

"Your destiny is not
To be determine by
An old man in a desert.
It is for you to make
Your own destiny."

"Your destiny is determined
By your choices,
By your desires and wants,
Don't ever let another person
Tell you what your future holds.
Live the life of your choosing."

Those were my master's last words.

In his death,
My master bade me
To live and to honour him,
To honour myself
I did as I was told,
I lived a life of my choosing.

1 comment:

Olsfred Íŋkž James said...

there's a deeper meaning to it all...definitely my fav!

 
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