The Returning of a Child

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The Returning of a Child

The old man sat alone by hearth, hunched toward the ground,

While his voice softly rumbled and his forehead deep and frowned

"Where are all the children? Why don't they come and see?

I've been all alone for years- what has become of me?"

"For I know I am a simple man, but still I would have thought

That an old man is a father, and a father's love is wrought

Through years and tears of guidance, and is not turned away

By an easily made decision - 'Oh, we'll go another day.' "

"I know I love this country and they have moved far on

The city, it has called them, and now I am forlorn

They've traded in their bushman's blood and it has served them well

But still I wish they'd ride these tracks and help me trees to fell."

But on the fire crackled, and no one did reply

Only the old sheepdog raised its head and gave a sigh

And the wind, it howled harshly and rattled through the pane

While the old man kept on sitting and the clouds began to rain.

The hours ticked by slowly, and hope began to fade

So the old man rose up slowly and on the pillow his head laid

"Lord, if you be listening, please send one home tonight

I've never asked you much - I beg, look upon my plight."

It wasn't till the morning when the cock began to crow

That hoof prints quickly thudded and packed the falling snow

And through the morning glow, a horse came into sight

Carrying a man, crouched in the morning light.

Bleary-eyed and weary, the man now struggled down

Dressed in garb and grime of a man about the town,

And as he thudded on the door, hope showed on his face

And when the father opened it, the son began his piece.

"Father, please don't spurn me, I know I don't deserve

You to help me out, I know I've got a nerve,

But you see, I've lost the business and I've nowhere else to go

You are my last hope; help me though my woe.

I don't wish for charity, I know you've none to give,

But I ask to live with you, the way we used to live

I know it's been a long time since I've worked this land,

But heart to heart I'm like you - I bear the bushman's brand.

But the old man did not listen, to the speech so carefully planned,

He pulled the boy toward him in his strong and gnarled hands, 

And as his son stood hesitant, unsure to stay or fly,

His father pulled him closer, and then began to cry.

"My boy, how long I've waited to hear you say those words!

Wishing, praying, hoping as I rode among my herds.

'I do not ask for charity'! I am your father, son!

You know I'll always care for you, no matter what you've done.

Your mother is not here but this is your childhood home,

And always will remain so, though the city you did rome.

It was my greatest dream, that we be reconciled

I have always wished to see the returning of a child."

And so they stood together, locked in an embrace

As tears of joy and happiness washed the toil from each face

Two bushmen reunited, a father and a son,

A child returned home, and a new beginning won.

Sarah Downes

5/10/16

I have learnt

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I have learnt so much this year. Now I know the why and what and when of what I never needed to know, as well as the deepest hidden secrets of the world that every human being should have to chance to understand. 

How the colours of the wind are written in the sound of silent words as people hold deep conversations without even saying a word.

Why eyes really are the windows to the souls.

What it means to be finally complete after years of unawareness as to who you really were, who you really could be when you thought yourself complete.

How a whisper to the ear can be the lifeblood of a thousand humming heart-beats.

What it means to read for pain and not for pleasure except the pleasure of saying that you know what you never needed to know.

Why people think that they really matter when we all know they are only kidding themselves into a sense having to belong, somewhere, somehow.

That often life catches you in the middle of a epic plot twist and throws you in the air and then catches you, giddy and breathless on the way down, while you try to understand how and why and where.

I have learnt what it means to take control of what you decide with your life, while still remaining within the boundaries of commitment.

That to be a lover of people does not mean that you have to love people themselves, do not have to condone the wilful stupidity that they drown themselves in. You only have to understand why, or at least try to.

Why children make a house dirty and a home sing.

How it is possible to have a thousand memories carried on the single scent of a long reaching dream that has come true on your doorstep.

How to cry in silence when your feet are ripped out from under you and you still have to go on, press onward on your bleeding stumps of self doubt, while the smile plasters onto your face until it becomes your true expression.

I have seen the fire, held the hands, cried the tears and beamed the smiles.

I have lived this year.