Yes, how were they to know,
searching in the heat of forenoon dunes,
those high hills of sand
where once the forests grew,
now a rhythm of burnt sunned, cool shadowed, mock horizons,
- they, searching for the camel which had strayed -
and finding there, a man sitting still, cross-legged
in the sand upon a small strip
of faded coloured carpet,
palm of hand crossed in palm of hand,
and in the palm of his upraised right hand,
one grain of sand
and who, as they approached,
did not shift his gaze from that one grain;
and yet they sensed that he sensed them;
better let him be, he knows what he’s about,
or if he’s mad, at least he’s quietly purposeful…
how were they to know
that as he gazed, the universe he saw
in that one grain of sand then
grew inside of him? till it filled itself,
like a sand-clock, as the last grain
falls from the upper to
the lower, and all is still again
as measured time stops still
amid the sands of time?
how were they to know
as that small figure against the desert sand
his cloak still burning to the touch,
returned to the oasis, as the red-hot sun
sank below the dramatic shadow of the furthest dune,
and later, sitting by the green palms and papyrus reeds,
the camels head down, humped around the welcome pool,
one child, then many children,
then grown men, asked him their questions;
and the answers, as the night folded in
below more stars than anyone could count,
drew the circle of cross-legged silent listeners
- occasionally, urgent voiced with a lifetime’s pressing question -
as if some grain of sand became in their mind too
totality; the universe.
How clearly you tell of the world as seen in a grain of sand, or a dropp of water, or the mind of mankind. Deep, wonderful work Michael. Scarlett
I'm still waiting for my vocab lesson, Mikey. Hang on a minute: I think this poem is it. Rich, delicious writing conveying a powerful philosophical message in the human condition. Warm regards, Gina.
Michael, this is wonderful! I think this is one of your best! It has such a worldly knowledge to it that I feel if I re-read it I will discover the answer to life's questions.......very impressive. Sincerely, Mary
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
And why not the universe a grain of sand, the illusion is just that and it is where we live and breathe and forget who we really are that the one lives and breathes through us and is us and we are it. A wonderful poem.