The wise man among us

There he stands, the wise man among us. Spouting nonsense so they say.

Among a crowd of a thousand who busily rush down London’s streets; evading one another as if on an obstacle course.

Swaying and dodging bodies within the parameter, deflecting eye contact here, a leaflet there, and a friendly voice…

too distant to slow the heavy steps weighed with fickle burdens as they trot to a rhythm towards the nearest tube station.

There he stands, the wise man among us. Spouting nonsense so they say.

Behold him, for he preaches his heartache at the 2,000 killed by Boko Haram in northern Cameroon and Nigeria; and the 3,700 settlements destroyed, pillaged and razed to the ground. Settlements they call them, not homes, not lives destroyed, not the warm bed that meant comfort from the hurt to the single mother caring for her children.

Witness the wise man’s pain as he cries out that all parties involved in the Charlie Hebdo attack were wrong, that a dozen publicists or two terrorists do not account for all the people they claim to represent.

There he stands, the wise man among us. Spouting nonsense so they say.

The past does not matter. That they say yet hypocritical words fall out of crisp and twisted lips as they acclaim the dead on their one day return to life, as they applaud the great deeds of Martin Luther King or Nelson Mandela, a man who was called a deadly terrorist. As they cry out of the wrong doings of Israel and Palestine and the USA’s involvement in Iraq.

Yet that cry is never voiced. That cry is never acted upon as it is laid to rest in their thoughts and overwhelmed by the personal despair each of the thousand face on that busy London street, on that busy morning.

There he stands. The wise man among us, who’s loud voice piercing the chill of the street goes unheard.

Behold the wise man among us, silenced… as he trots to the rhythm of a thousand footsteps, on his way to the nearest tube station.

Inspired by Anthony Anaxagorou




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