Wisdom Poem by Silent Noise

The old man
Sits on the stool
To bask and sunbath, the sun
Which darts the sky orange
This man…
He happens to be my Grandfather

I get my three-legged stool
And I give him company
Right beside him
He urges me to fill my mug
With the thick brown fluid
Which we continually sip together
…

Look at the sky my son
He speaks softly
While pointing to the western horizon
I reply courageously
I can see thick cumulous clouds
‘Thank Lord it will rain.'

This last comment does not impress him
He clears the throat and speaks
‘My son, not all clouds bring forth rain
If it rains, never hurry for its consumption
It may be harmful to you'

This leaves me forming question tags in my mind
The old man smiles as if reading my mind
He gently moves his hands over my shoulders, he tells me
‘Never worry…politics is a dirty game'
You now understand son

More confusion invades my mind
I ask with fear
‘What relation has politics got to do with weather aspects? '
He takes his mug sips the contents then looks into my eyes

‘Son, politics is like clouds
Very promising while campaigning
That one, may conclude
Thank God it will rain
But, it never rains
‘Heaven' promised in manifestos
Will remain in the sky like the thick clouds'



I questioned, ‘What if it rains as you suggested? '
‘Son, force is not the right way to acquire something.'
This answer leaves me in a desert of words to comprehend

‘If they are fulfilled, never run to the receiving point
It may be of harmful deeds to you
It aims at enticing you…keep watch
It is once in five years
Now son, you understand

I nod my head
I hug the old man
I promise him
‘Your word in my heart'
Forever and ever in my soul