Walk with the Few

The Few
( Tariku Abas Etenesh)
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I read in the notebook of an old man,

Who was craving to tell me the secrets of his tears,

Whenever he stood and looked at my life’s path.

I never gave him time, though; “I was busy”,

Between doing nothing and getting dizzy;

and following the mass and decrying my own bliss,

For the vogue and acceptance I badly had to make fuss;

Many false starts and mistakes away, 
Once I casually-towards the old man- turned,

Yet the old man was gone;save the notebook he left for me to read:

In his note I read:

“Life has many ends, not one,

When the mass is busy degrading itself,

Under the pretence of normalcy or its proof,

In sermons of parroting and calls for a masquerade,

Pleading to emulate someone or something dead;

Embellishing a known ego vilified the ‘common good,’

Beware, my son, you look out for the few around,

Who into a life of delusion nor denouncements not lured;

Whether you find them or by them you be found,

That must be the way of the future for the unending end,

Leading you to the unbeaten future road.”

 "I wish I read it long ago,"I just said, 

and gave it to my son to read:

“I am busy” he scorned.