A Seer Poem by Anupama Anpat

By the corner of the old street,
an old seer sat,
a beggar’s bowl lay at his feet,
his only possession was a weaved mat.

People passed him without another look,
he was just another featureless element of the souk.
He lay there all day long in a heap,
as if in a trance that was deep.

The legend had it,
he was once the king’s mystic.
Mysteries of the future he did unfold,
great prophesies foretold.

He was a well respected man,
until he fell prey to a sham,
a prediction did not come true,
finally with him, the court was through.

Now he lived by the roadside,
probably in a bid to hide,
surviving on a meagre change put in his bowl,
while the days took their toll.

One day, an emotion overcame me,
it may have been pity or just curiosity,
I asked him how was he?
He lifted his head timidly.

His face was tired and resigned,
the eyes were kind,
a light shone through them,
I stood there mesmerised.

He raised his frail hand,
and touched my head,
speaking in a feeble voice:
he said ‘thank you for being nice.’

His comment tugged at my heart,
a humane touch is all one needs,
to care for another is an art,
to words of wisdom pay heed:
‘Greatness does not lie in books we read,
it lies in ordinary selfless deeds.’

An important lesson the seer did teach,
far and wide may his message reach.