It is hard sometimes to tell the fool from the sage.
For both have made speeches,
Twined words and evoked passion.
Both men, both mortal - the sage and the fool.
Yet when their hearts are exposed it is not hard at all
To tell the sage from the fool, the fool from the sage.
For when we see from whence the speech comes,
We know for certain – the sage and the fool.
For one speaketh from a belly full and an indolent mind,
Belching in repletion, his search for meaning complete.
Flaunting his wealth,
Admiring the pretty colors,
Expensive linen,
Brocades and silk.
He smells the roses, blooming in his pretty garden,
And he perceives himself like them,
Sweetly fragrant,
Lovely.
He looks at his fleet of expensive motorcars,
He feels important.
For, he sees himself as them, their value on a check.
He cannot count his wealth on all his fingers and toes.
This makes him feel big too,
For he would have to borrow many fingers and toes
On which to count his wealth.
A Sage? A fool?
And the other?
His frame has room to spare.
We would call him, Gaunt,
We would call him, Grace.
He sits at the market place,
Twiddling his toes and gazing at the sky.
He speaketh here as one speaks to children.
A smile, lurking thereabouts,
At the corners of his mouth.
As one who is unserious.
He smiles often, a twinkle in his eyes.
He has no wealth to count on his fingers and toes,
No coin to bless his pockets with,
Yet riches untold to bless his heart.
A Sage? A fool?
To them both death,
A sentence passed,
Without mitigation or reprieve.
They both die - the sage and the fool.
The one was laid in a casket of gold,
In a sterile vault with no germs,
Fragrant, with herbs and pretty flowers.
The golden casket belies the truth
Of the one who lies within.
The gold deludes us to think
That corruption was kept at bay.
The vault lays claim to immortal-ness.
Corruption lies in state,
For posterity a gift,
Wrapped in prettiness for all to admire.
A sage? A fool?
And the other one?
He was given up to dust from whence he came,
Abundant with bacteria to return to the earth.
In abundant sunshine,
In abundant rain,
In death, as he lived, one with the universe.
Humming in time with a force greater than himself,
Than his life.
Easily and gently forgotten
Except for the flowers that sprung up there,
On newly fertile earth and blossomed richly,
Swaying in the breeze.
Their fragrance is sweetness
And their color is true.
From dust unto dust.
A sage? A fool?
- Nyambura Kiarie
Nairobi, Kenya.
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