By the corner of the old street, <br />an old seer sat, <br />a beggar’s bowl lay at his feet, <br />his only possession was a weaved mat. <br /> <br />People passed him without another look, <br />he was just another featureless element of the souk. <br />He lay there all day long in a heap, <br />as if in a trance that was deep. <br /> <br />The legend had it, <br />he was once the king’s mystic. <br />Mysteries of the future he did unfold, <br />great prophesies foretold. <br /> <br />He was a well respected man, <br />until he fell prey to a sham, <br />a prediction did not come true, <br />finally with him, the court was through. <br /> <br />Now he lived by the roadside, <br />probably in a bid to hide, <br />surviving on a meagre change put in his bowl, <br />while the days took their toll. <br /> <br />One day, an emotion overcame me, <br />it may have been pity or just curiosity, <br />I asked him how was he? <br />He lifted his head timidly. <br /> <br />His face was tired and resigned, <br />the eyes were kind, <br />a light shone through them, <br />I stood there mesmerised. <br /> <br />He raised his frail hand, <br />and touched my head, <br />speaking in a feeble voice: <br />he said ‘thank you for being nice.’ <br /> <br />His comment tugged at my heart, <br />a humane touch is all one needs, <br />to care for another is an art, <br />to words of wisdom pay heed: <br />‘Greatness does not lie in books we read, <br />it lies in ordinary selfless deeds.’ <br /> <br />An important lesson the seer did teach, <br />far and wide may his message reach.<br /><br />Anupama Anpat<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/a-seer-2/
