The Desert Sage

Yea, wisdom, who hungers not? Yea from where does he hail?
Where does he roam, is it born of regal that sets him in illumined array upon lofty throne
'Twas it the books a many, of those breathing before
That read many more, and penned even more?
So many voices cast, yes bright, yet where indeed lies true lite this night?

Is the true philosopher he who has read all the best and rest?
Or he born of desert, never hearing mans voice at all?
For if mans voice be persuasive in eloquence so bent
Shall not your voice become my voice, thus both lost to best
For surely the masters are yea, brighter than I

Yet, an ocean of voices do reign upon sea
Yet the wind has only one voice, it be hers I need
For the Sage born of desert, hearing never mans voice
Has only known wind, to bend inner choice
Sage born of clay, birthed in fired wind


The desert sage yes common, dress of plain indeed
Yet no seam in his linen robe, mystery indeed
If he had all the poets, master bards at his hand
Would he probe yea, beg, for all that they had?
Nay, for the desert Sage knows that these great, have not, what he has

For their communion mankind, his only wind.

Rodney Evan Bohen