“This emptiness you cannot fill, my son.”
Said he, like a wise fool.
The air of a man who had seen it all
hung around his mortal flesh, like the fleeting mist of dawn.
“But Nature abhors vacuum, does it not?”
Asked the perplexed listener in reply.
“Nature!” Exclaimed the old man as he said,
“What is that, my dear child, and emptiness –
does it mean anything at all? Or are you full
with a craving, unfulfilled, for too long?”
The listener, a young man in his late thirties,
might have been shaken by the rant,
was old enough, nevertheless, to stop his emotions
from flooding the Savannah of his face,
or so he would have thought, had he not heard –
“Your face is alright, son.” The words followed a hearty laugh,
(as if the old man could read his mind like a book)
“It’s always the eyes that betray.
But worry not, since now I have seen through it all,
I shall tell you what ails thy soul.”
And now the young man was visibly spooked,
as his raging thoughts roared, but how…
“Relax, my dear child,” once again,
knowingly said the ancient man,
“rest assured this is no witchcraft,
our eyes are windows to our soul which, I say, is but one!
What ails thee, my poor child, is not
an emptiness but being full of incomplete thoughts.
So either bury them with you or go
plant those seeds, even if just one or two…”
And as abruptly as it had begun, it was over.
One last time the old man looked into the listener’s eyes,
a long, lingering look, then he said goodbye and turned,
but the young man’s heart was standing still and frozen,
as the hairs on his back stood up –
for those old eyes were lifeless, like two polished slabs of glass.