He walks along the path,
and then finds himself face down in a pile of dust.
Something is affixed to his back,
but no matter how he turns around and crane his neck and twist and contort his body, he sees nothing.
Yet he can feel the affliction,
and it gnaws at his heart.
It beats then falters,
swims then flounders,
loves then murders.
Alas, if only life did not come with decisions,
the small boy said.
Broken pieces of a jar in his hand,
as he sits at the edge of the cliff,
peering into the vast ocean beneath.
The wise man replied from yonder
then how different would your life be
than that of a stone?
the voice echoed over the constant
ebb and flow of the tide.
The boy leaps off the cliff and dives into the waters
Blue, cold, furious.
They storm at him, pushing and swelling,
like a baker kneading dough.
Alas, if only I had no troubles,
the small boy croaked.
Gasping and struggling,
to the surface he rose.
The wise man shouted through the waters
then how different would you be
from a fish who swims and eats all day
and gets eaten at the end of the day?
The boy climbs up the shore
sees nothing but sand in the distance
a vulture circles the air.
Alas, if only life was a smooth and straight path,
with no hardship or suffering,
his clothes ragged and torn,
walking into the wilderness.
The wise man bellowed through the air
from the surrounding mountains
then how different would you be
from the rest of your peers?
The boy reaches the mountains.
And searches for the wise man
but there is only him.
and him.
