The leader of the clan
emerges
from the underground cavern
after four years
of self-imposed seclusion.
The dust
and the stink of death
have settled.
His eyes ache
at the deluge of light,
his lungs
rejoice in the cocktail of wonders.
Two tribesmen
fall at his feet
and offer him fruit.
He breaks open
the pomegranate
and squeezes
the sweet juice
into his mouth.
The crowd behind him
cheer loudly
and start dancing
to the trance
of thumping drumbeats.
He raises his hand,
hushes
the euphoria and jubilation.
He announces:
This is the taste
of the old world.
The one-eyed seer,
the oldest of the council,
squints
and spots
a blazing comet in the sky.
Infinity
stares back at the prophet
through the cracks.
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