Wednesday, September 2, 2015

The Blind Man

The rains are coming,
The blind man kneeling
On the edge of the
Cliff looking over the
Arid, almost desert-like,
Land spoke.

His lips parched,
As he had not allowed
A drop of life giving
Liquid to pass said lips,
Nor did food pass
His lips as he meditated
For two days.

I knelt down beside him,
Feeling a cool breeze
Blow through my hair.
I smelled it, the distant
Precipitation was approaching.

Bring them to the high land,
He said into the wind.

What if they refuse?
I asked, looking down
At our home, a village,
An encampment, our home
At the base of the cliff.

He turned his unseeing eyes
Towards me, and sadly said,
Then they will die.

It was reason enough
For me and it was
Reason enough for
Our people.

With little time to spare
Our home was packed up
And we had made it
To higher ground as
The first rain drop
Hit the arid earth.

Before long we understood
The significance of moving
To higher ground for
Where we were based
Was a dry river bed
Which now became a
Raging river.

As our people sheltered
In hastily erected tents,
I returned to the
Cliff's edge but
The blind man was gone.

I knelt down where
He once knelt and
Closed my eyes.
It would rain four days
And on the final day
The sun would shine
So brightly that it
Would summon the
Kids to come out to

I smiled and got
To my feet, wondering
When exactly would I
Lose my vision, when
I would not see the
Physical world and
Only see the spiritual one
And what lay beyond both.

'Til that time when
I become that old man,
I will enjoy what
I can see. The smiling
Faces of my people
And a world that
was beyond beautiful.

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