The Visitor

He came out of nowhere,
Holding nothing,
Saying nothing,
Needing nothing,
Loving everything.

You could see it in his eyes,
A strange man, an old man, a sad man,
with piercing, loving eyes

He sang a song, a strange song, a sad song, a loving song
with a strange, haunting melody.
He sang about a far away land,
Where people loved,
and rode in horse-drawn carriages,
on cobblestone streets.

He sat at the village square,
Night after night,
Singing his song,

Drinking his wine.

People came from everywhere to hear him sing,
Old people, young people,
Lovers, friends, enemies,

People from other villages.

Then winter came, a cold winter, a dark winter, a windy winter.

Snow covered the land completely
and noone came to the village square to hear the song.

The old man sang alone.

Then one day, a chilling day, a dark day, a windy day,

He sailed out,

On a dark sea, on a stormy sea, on an unfriendly sea.

Never to be seen again.



© 2000 George Pararas-Carayannis

The realization of truth is more difficult than its discovery.

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