The Path by Osama Shammary
The old man was always there upon the path
The people stood bewildered guessing at his thoughts
It seemed that there he always remained
Staring silently at the Almanac
His demeanour never changed except at the sight of young
whose brimming energy left marks on the stones.
Years passed and people went away, he always remained –
The young grew old, the old died but he kept counting the stones
Still there at the crossroads on his moss-covered path
Where he was reflecting on his thoughts
Or so it seemed to the young
Where he sat ans stuck to a tree was his Almanac
So the stories passed about the man on the path
Staring at the now almost grass-covered stones
And there trying to get his attention were the young
Passing by every so often to compare their jokes from the Almanac
And as he on the path remained
Only God himself knew his thoughts.
Nobody knew if he always stayed on the path
Or for how long will he count the stones
From child to child varied the thoughts
About how such a man could have an Almanac?
Little things pleased the minds of the young
And this was how it always remained
And so the situation stayed on the path
For ever subtly counting stones.
Endlessly reading the Almanac –
He was ignored by the young,
So he will always remain:
Or so everyone thought
Until that one day on the path
When his tear clattered on the Almanac
And his body fell on the stones;
There gawped the surprised young
Looking where the vault of memories and thoughts
Rested on the stones and forever remained.