Ovi -
we cover every issue
newsletterNewsletter
subscribeSubscribe
contactContact
searchSearch
Oxterweb  
Ovi Bookshop - Free Ebook
Join Ovi in Facebook
Ovi Language
Books by Avgi Meleti
Stop violence against women
Tony Zuvela - Cartoons, Illustrations
International Red Cross and Red Crescent Movement
 
BBC News :   - 
iBite :   - 
GermanGreekEnglishSpanishFinnishFrenchItalianPortugueseSwedish
The Exile The Exile
by Nikos Laios
2020-03-27 09:16:55
Print - Comment - Send to a Friend - More from this Author
DeliciousRedditFacebookDigg! StumbleUpon

The old wooden
Shack sat on the edge
Of a sand dune on a
Desolate beach
On the outskirts
Of the city.

exile_400The rusted
Corrugated iron roof
Sheets were held
Down by loose nails
And the sheets flapped
In the breeze,
Especially
At winter.

He sat there
With his wild
Woolly grey hair
And tanned leathery
Face with the blazing
Eyes of an ascetic,
And the wind would
Occasionally whip up
The sand and would
Blast his bronzed skin.

He would stare
At the thick white
Clouds under the
Clear blue sky
Forming shapes
That gently floated
By like a dream;
A wild horse,
Pegasus,
A crab,
The face of
A god.

He had rejected
Humanity a long time
Ago and kept his
Own company,
He was a misanthrope
Who lived in a kingdom
Of his own making;
At night, he could see
The neon glow
Of the distant city skyline
Where people lived.

He lived there once,
A rich man and benefactor,
But his friends abandoned
Him as soon as his generosity
Had ran out and found poverty.

Yet poverty
Was his salvation,
He was stripped clean,
Stripped of all material
Things and illusions of the world,
And the illusion of who he
Thought he was.

In the wild beauty
On the outskirts
Of the city
He had
Found himself;
He was wealthier
Now than he ever was.

He was forged
By the heat of
Endless summers
And the bitter cold
Of winters;
He learned
How to forage
And hunt,
How to plant
With the seasons
And fish the seas.

An occasional
Traveller trekking
The wild coast
Would stumble upon
His shack and
Would share stories
With the old man
Under a crackling
Fire at night under the stars
Before continuing their
Journey the next day.

In his humble
Wooden shack
He kept a stack of
Books on a crudely
Built bookshelf,
A radio and a chessboard;
They were the only luxuries
He afforded himself.

The next summer,
With the fading heat
And the orange sky,
A new traveller stumbled
Upon the shack and found it
Empty and abandoned.

The corrugated
Iron sheets had come
Off the roof, and the
Bamboo door swung
Loosely on one rusted hinge,
And next to the shack
In the yellow sand dune
He found a skeleton mostly
Buried except for the skull
And the bony hands sticking out,
With a name scratched
On a wooden sign;
The final resting
Place of Timon
Of Athens,
The exile.

 *******************************

With a digital drawing from Nikos Laios

********************************

Check Nikos Laios' EBOOK
Ida & Her Magic Camera
is online now and you can download for FREE HERE!
 
life_41_400

 


   
Print - Comment - Send to a Friend - More from this Author

Comments(0)
Get it off your chest
Name:
Comment:
 (comments policy)

© Copyright CHAMELEON PROJECT Tmi 2005-2008  -  Sitemap  -  Add to favourites  -  Link to Ovi
Privacy Policy  -  Contact  -  RSS Feeds  -  Search  -  Submissions  -  Subscribe  -  About Ovi