The Others

The Return of the Pied Piper, I

The Others

Part I

I

Shepherds are poor and the poor are the chosen.

A shepherd boy was Nicolas, n'so was Stephen.

Convinced their innocence was enough to bless

Their meagre limbs, those brave arms and legs,

They carried themselves where there's no return.

To Jerusalem heading, for their god they yearned.

Few chronicles left and found leave us in doubt.

Thirty thousand pairs of eyes were looking out

For purpose, we speculate, but let's add perhaps.

Hanging doubts become history as years elapse.

The past of the East disturbs us, so we look west

And wonder about the Aryan kids' queer quest.

All wondering takes us to the Bungelosenstrasse

Where the long-last bairns of Hamelin were last

Seen mesmerized, following like we still follow

Melodies that never promised to fill our hollow,

Our blunder; the ever-widening existential gap

That sips our blood and swallows the soul's sap.

Being so consumed, we imagine we're being fed,

And we lick our lips and feel thankful they bled.

As for the children, none could track their steps

And what the mourners' hands could do at best

Was to scribble on the walls of Ratten-fängerhaus

A tragedy that began hardly bigger than a mouse.

Nonetheless, modern world dwellers can't mock

The Hamelinians who their children didn't lock

Like Loo did to Pit and we oft to our inner child.

Do you remember healing it the last time it cried?

Do we try to discover the roots of our problems?

Now ingrained, don't we water them to blossom?

"Where's water? And which land is not yet waste?"

The chap asked his peers as they walked in haste.

But friends don't always listen and give answers.

And so the youngsters agreed to ask their elders.

Which path leads astray, which road not to take

Taking thus the road most travelled by: a mistake.