Yes, how were they to know, <br />searching in the heat of forenoon dunes, <br />those high hills of sand <br />where once the forests grew, <br />now a rhythm of burnt sunned, cool shadowed, mock horizons, <br />- they, searching for the camel which had strayed - <br /> <br />and finding there, a man sitting still, cross-legged <br />in the sand upon a small strip <br />of faded coloured carpet, <br />palm of hand crossed in palm of hand, <br />and in the palm of his upraised right hand, <br />one grain of sand <br /> <br />and who, as they approached, <br />did not shift his gaze from that one grain; <br />and yet they sensed that he sensed them; <br />better let him be, he knows what he’s about, <br />or if he’s mad, at least he’s quietly purposeful… <br /> <br />how were they to know <br />that as he gazed, the universe he saw <br />in that one grain of sand then <br />grew inside of him? till it filled itself, <br />like a sand-clock, as the last grain <br />falls from the upper to <br />the lower, and all is still again <br />as measured time stops still <br />amid the sands of time? <br /> <br />how were they to know <br />as that small figure against the desert sand <br />his cloak still burning to the touch, <br />returned to the oasis, as the red-hot sun <br />sank below the dramatic shadow of the furthest dune, <br /> <br />and later, sitting by the green palms and papyrus reeds, <br />the camels head down, humped around the welcome pool, <br />one child, then many children, <br />then grown men, asked him their questions; <br />and the answers, as the night folded in <br />below more stars than anyone could count, <br />drew the circle of cross-legged silent listeners <br />- occasionally, urgent voiced with a lifetime’s pressing question - <br />as if some grain of sand became in their mind too <br />totality; the universe.<br /><br />Michael Shepherd<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/0332-how-were-they-to-know/
