The Father*

In a small village lived a man

Who no longer had a wife.

The only son that he had was now

The pride and joy of his life.`

 

While the man was away one day,

Some plunderers came into town.

They ransacked the homes, kidnapped the boy,

And burned the houses down.

 

When the man arrived back home,

He found among the rubble

A charred body. Assuming it was

His son's, he took the trouble

 

To have the body cremated, and then

He put the remains of the lad

Into a bag that he carried with him

Wherever he went. Poor dad!

 

After the man had rebuilt his house

With a memorial dome,

The son escaped from the plunderers

And found his way back home.

 

Hearing a knock on the door, the father

Wondered, "Who could it be?"

The son continued knocking and said,

"Father, it is me!"

 

"Go away!" the father said.

"Leave me in peace!" he cried.

"I won't open the door to an

Imposter. My son died!"

 

Frantically, the son continued

To pound upon the door.

He finally walked away in sadness.

Ah, the grief they bore!

 

The years passed by. The son would wonder

Every now and then,

"Should I return?" but sadly he

Never went back again.

 

When people are so attached to false

Ideas that they embrace,

They hide from the truth, even if

It stares them in the face.

-by Bob B (7-14-23)

*An old Buddhist parable