Lekgotla of the eminent greybeards
Here we are
among a group of bearded men,
They are conversing in different types of language,
and nobody understands each other.
We wonder how bearded
we ourselves are,
but there are no mirrors around
to clarify the matter.
You cut into the conversation:
Wisdom does not come automatically with age.
One with an almost completely white beard
It is written that outside feels residue.
I feel compelled to nod and respond:
Yes, wisdom grows from within
and the residue of it
can benefit other people.
Another man tugs thoughtfully
on his brownish beard,
shot through with grey, and says:
Expeditious expeditions into expedience
sounds good to me.
You wave a dismissive hand:
Only if you have a good whiskey at hand.
A man with a bristly white beard
It is singular how singularities
are often never discussed in single’s bars.
I nod, just to keep the conversation going:
Yes, humanity has only one goal.
A man with a trimmed salt-and-pepper beard
gets up and says:
One goal is enough to win.
He walks away.
You muse: You can’t walk away from life.
I respond: Yes, let’s sit it out.
I take a sip from my half-empty glass…
no, it is half-full.