New Pupils to an Old Disciple

It is still the home for all. A place where all the brave men return at nights, women (and men too) cook for the families and neighbors, children are taught, and dogs are fed. This morning, or two years ago exactly, I stand in front of a gate of  an empty middle school. I am extra careful. I shouldn’t have been here. It is empty.

I stand on the highest rock, for a sight. I see only a person, sitting on a sophisticated green chair. He is alone. No words from his mouth, no matter how loud I scream at him. His eyes are wide open, looking far straight. He doesn’t notice me. But I recognize him. I remember every word he speaks, every note he writes, and every charts he presents. To be frank, I prompt him for putting me in the heart of the ruins.

*

He looks tired, old enough to die in 2 years, young enough to care about what isn’t really his business, wise enough to not take a side. His body is now laying 2 meters deep in the earth somewhere. I don’t know. I am not there for the burial.

We never conclude. I think that’s one thing we have in common. We try to put aside humanly trait of seeing patterns in everything, how wise is that. As wise as he is, still, he is a stubborn academia. Never has he spoken to me in a friendly manner, he is an angry man. I once think he is angry because I do too often if not always ask him questions he despises.

“TIME PROVES!”, as he speaks, years ago.

I am new to this and have to read 24 stacks of books on the table to say a word about it. So I never do. But his words stay at every corners of my minds for four years now. I believe it will be there for maybe an eternity. His intention is pure and wise. On everything else, we accuse each other of interpreting wrongly or being misinformed or simply heretic. To me personally, he is too old, too conservative, fails to distinguish lies and truths.

*

This, surely not a stupid lies we usually argue about. All is empty because there are no living beings; it is full of souls of children and self-claimed martyrs, men and women in love, young scholars with ambitions.  My big pupils (my eyes are all black at time) give me advantages to see it all. His presence, after all, is a mere soul. He is no different.

I need two years to hug they who aren’t worthy enough to deserve the smallest piece of their own birthday cake, or those who die in battles, scapegoats for all the bad. I am curious of what they learn at school. What are they taught about?

It is ruined to pieces, like an impossible jigsaw puzzle. You can’t be sure if the pieces needed are all there. Sometimes you wonder if a piece is a part of the puzzle itself. Something has changed profoundly. A picture for every tries, it surely needs times. If one is interested to be part of a big history, this is it, try to do the puzzle.

Only when I see it myself and hug them tight, I admit he was right.