• A boy was lost in the city.
  hungry in the cold,no hope of getting home it seemed.
  his clothes were all dirty,his hair long and dusty.
  an innocent face of a mad-man,the city men would say.

  Home seemed a distant dream.
  his fears had come alive.but no one would believe.
  how could they?why would they?
  death roamed the city among the ordinary buildings and roads of a daily-life.
  how the extra-ordinary things which he never noticed of life passed over his eyes, today.

  He could not believe the truth, so seldomn and serene.
  a glimpse of which could clean the dirtiest of beings.
  though the hell is real, he knows.he sees with his own eyes,
  the eyes of those who have fallen,filled with anger and agony.
  the corruption scatters through the ones who are ignorant,he knew.

  his eyes ready to cry but he could not,he will not.
  his songs his only hope.
  jesus and buddha are gone for now, he knows.
  but hope dies hard in a believers heart,it shows.

  the pain reaches each others heart.
  the brotherhood of man is long forgotten though, he knows.
  but could there still be hope.
  could odds favor the trodden?
  could the gods be real?if not,but just for today.if he believes?

  Can the heavens clear darkest skies?
  can the colours fill his eyes?
  The beautiful moon shows.
  A long lamp in a martyr's park,a symbol of hope.it glows.

  He sat under the ancient bodhi tree in the park.his only adobe.
  enemies had guns he knew and powers of goverment could stomp an easy ant.
  but still can the flower of friendship bloom in an enemy's heart?
  the hate is a dirty beast he knew.

  the destiny of never getting home,now seemed a matter of inevitable fate.
  but some truths are lies in disguise, he knew.
  the illusion of fate and destiny are hard to break.
  the treading of the path, is the chance he has to take.
  the ancient sun glows inside his heart, and
  his naked feet are ready to walk with scars.

  the darkest hours come to take part,
  but the fears can't touch his burning heart.
  the devil shows him his sublime dance in the last of darkest hours.
  he troubled the arts,
  and he saw the greatest burning of agony in hearts.

  he reached his home.
  he walks the path to brighter days ahead........he goes.
  he flows like a river with endless hope,
  but only a fewer are knowledgebale,it seems.
  the river is ancient,it flows within
  The Truth he knows.

• This is interesting. I like it.
  It reminds me of Siddhartha by Hermann Hesse (have you read it ? )

  
  

  http://connecthook.wordpress.com/2013/12/28/journey-to-the-east/

  NomadMonadon February 11, 2014   Link

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