The meditating saint was sitting under the tree,
The saint who was perceived as the mind of free,
Free mind as in the rage was suppressed.
Free mind as in the fate was blessed.

The saint was questioned by kid of age twelve,
Who asked him innocently “what is the meaning of a rebel?”
The saint first smiled and gave him some fruits,
Then he glared in his direction; mute,

“The rebel is a wolf outcast, from its pack,
It seeks revenge for banishment” he said,
“The rebel, what we know, Is a warrior in our eyes,
We refuse to believe the truth and sometimes we deny,
We deny the fact that everyone here is fighting,
We see only fights worthy and enlightening,
We have what we need, we want we out greed,
We have no control over our desire of blasphemy,
We see the world we perceive it as a cage,
When captured in walls a rebel is bound to rage,
In his fit of rage he draws his sword,
Without seeing his enemy he delivers the blow,
When the rebel sees that the head that he slaughtered,
Was not of an enemy but his own daughter,
The rebel cries with the head in his hands,
What was left out that the rebel didn’t understand.
The rebel forgot in his fit of rage,
That he called his own home the demonic cage,
When he was intoxicated by power and lust,
He delivered the blow with full of disgust,
But do you see why the rebel was gone mad?
Why did the world seemed to him gloomy and sad?”

The boy looked up trying to comprehend,
He nodded his head in the notion to pretend,
“The rebel was a fool when he chop off the head,
If he would have been calm, his daughter wouldn’t have been dead.”
The saint smiled at his simple interpretation,
He knew the boy and his dead sister and he was the father in redemption.

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