A Tired Old Man Poem by Mohammad Younus

A tired old man,
his weathered face
etched with the wrinkles of waiting,
sits alone,
overwhelmed by a yearning—
to see truth gleam from each blade.

The face of truth,
a picture held in his mind,
shines from eternity,
warming the room
with the light he's kept reserved
in quiet corners of thought.

He believed they would dance,
hand in hand,
to a mutual end.
Yet he lived on,
not truly alive,
blind to the quiet revelation—
they were never two,
but one.

Illusions wove their web,
luring him toward duality,
but his heart,
like an ancient stone,
could bear no touch
but that of unity.

He closes his eyes,
and truth calls to him.
A warmth blooms within,
spreading until it surrounds him.
A voice, soft as silk,
draws him near—
truth's gentle pull,
a siren leading him home.

Truth takes his hand.
He walks.
And in that step,
duality falls away.

Outside, the world fractures—
the last shadows of division fleeing,
while within him,
the one eternal truth
remains,
radiant and whole.

MyKoul