The Boy on the Hill
The storm is coming,
Dark skies and cold winds.
Would you rather tuck in
Or put a chair outside the porch?
Let me light a candle,
And tell you an old tale
Of the boy who lost his way.
Out in the dark moors,
Of a desolate land far away,
Lived quiet Sabayah,
with his pet raven Grey.
One stormy night,
He was stuck on a hill,
With nothing but a thin shirt,
And a small bag containing bread.
The sky howled and screamed,
Rivulets of water lashed his face.
Sabayah was soaked cold to the bone,
But not once was he afraid.
His mother had warned him,
Don't go to the hill alone,
The wolves will hunt you,
When you turn your back.
The hyenas will fool you,
With their maiden like laughter,
The snakes will bite you,
When you sit down to pray.
He hadn't paid heed,
He was too stubborn for his ways.
But one thing he was always,
Was brave. The trees glistened
With shapes that looked like faces.
The grass rattled with strange noises.
'Who's there? Who's hiding
To pounce on me, rip me apart?
Who's going to kill me,
And eat my red blood heart?'
He shut down his thoughts
And marched on downhill.
'There are no ghosts,
There are no ghosts.
I am Sabayah, king of the hill.
I am Sabayah, bird whisperer,
Insect watcher, thunder catcher,
God's own child. Nothing
Can harm me. Nothing
Can block my way.'
He spoke loudly and clearly,
Singing his fears away.
Wet and shivering,
He reached his house.
His worried mother hugged him,
And told him she was waiting
For him to find his way.
When he asked how she was so sure
That he would be okay,
She looked at his eyes and smiled,
'I was with you each time
Each time you thought you couldn't make it,
Each time I would whisper in your ear.
You are almost there, just a little more.
I knew you would find your way home.'
Sabayah remembered the nightjars
At the base of the hill, how their call
Made him believe he was always close.
He had left the dark tumultuous hill
And its helpless memory behind.
He had come back where it was warm.
The soothing smell of that place called home.
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