Shaqila
The Fourth Wise Man
I was on my way to see the One whom people said was to be the Redeemer; a baby born, so pure, so holy, perhaps he would be my answer.
My journey was hindered by a dying donkey along the way that blocked the path to my destination.
I carried/dragged the poor donkey to the side and waited until his spirit departed and I sang his Spirit to the sky.
I was on my way again or so I thought, because out of the bushes came a young girl carrying a baby she could not have birthed.
She said, “Please help, Master. The soldiers have killed my parents and I had to run away with my brother. Could you give us shelter/refuge till we reach my mother’s brother in Bethlehem?”
I had no choice, though not willing.
So, we travelled together to reach my destination; young girl, baby, and I.
My journey would have been smooth thereafter but across us who should pass but a woman of dark complexion, luscious black hair, and alluring green eyes.
She said, “Save me, O Master. Make me your temporary wife, so that those hoodlums would stop taunting me, at least until we reach Bethlehem. There I will find my relatives.”
I hated it, this company.
I was a lone traveller, my camel and I.
But I had no choice.
I did not wish to die in guilt someday thinking of ‘what if’ and ‘I should have’.
So, our travel party grew, as my supplies dwindled.
In the cold desert, we all huddled; the pretty lady, the young girl, the baby, and I.
By my count, we would reach Bethlehem in three days time.
There I could ask around to the One’s abode.
Surely, he must be in a safe place.
I heard even Kings were on their way to visit him.
The morning prior to reach my destination, the baby ran a fever.
So, we stopped at a Bedouin camp and asked the women for some assistance.
An old lady, perhaps the medicine woman, came out with some leaves which she placed on the baby’s forehead and some goat’s milk she said would be nourishing.
Soon after, the fever subsided and so I thanked them and having not much in hand to pay, I handed them my extra clothes, travel collections, and some precious perfumes.
They gave us some food, goat’s milk, and water, bid us safe journey and we were on our way.
A little while more and we would be there; I was excited.
I laughed and sang.
The lady joined in though she didn’t know the songs.
The baby gurgled amused and I thought all was well.
We stopped for the night and I could almost see/smell the little town’s lights.
I would be there to see the One when morning came and maybe then my life would not seem so dark.
I did not know my birth parents; an old woman took care of me.
As soon as I was old enough, I left her and went on my journey.
I call it journey but I had no destination.
I reached many places but I was never home.
The sun rose brilliant on the morning of my last travels.
We gathered our belongings, saddled the camel, and continued our walk to Bethlehem.
The young girl was happy; she held my hand.
The lady held the baby and almost cuddled it against her bosom.
For a minute, I felt my stomach churn and my heart skipped a beat.
Was this home? I wondered.
But these temporary refuge seekers had their own destinations.
I could not impose myself on them though the past few days had been incredible.
Was this how a family felt, with a little girl to hold my hand and a precious wife to take care of us?
I turned and looked at the lady.
She smiled and said, “Just a little while more, Master. Don’t worry.”
Had I the courage, I would have asked there and then for her to be my wife but I was too self-deprecating to think such a beautiful one would even agree.
My journey then became slow and arduous.
We crossed some merchants returning from the town.
They said, “Shalom, the town is ripe for trade. Go have some fun.”
I asked them if they knew where the One was born and stayed.
They said, “We don’t know of the One but maybe you can ask around.”
Thus, we continued into town.
First, we went looking for the young girl’s uncle, her mother’s brother. People knew of him but said he had now gone to be a soldier.
I didn’t know what to do; the young girl looked frightened and though tears were on the brink of her eyes, she stood still and smiled and asked, “Master, maybe I can be your child?”
I wanted to cry just then, filled with unfathomable emotions but I was a man, a traveller who had seen much, who knew men didn’t cry, much less in front of a little girl.
So I hugged her and wiped my eyes behind her back and said, “Child you shall be my daughter and your brother will know me as his father.”
The lady, as with all ladies, let her tears fall freely as she hugged us all and said, “Master, I would like to be your wife for real this time and mother to these children if you will have me?”
I didn’t know what to say.
My inner longings seemed to be fulfilled but still we needed to find the One, so I said, “Sure, I am a lucky man today to get a family.
I must find the One and thank him for the blessings I have received along the way.”
We searched, the four of us, for the One and his family but we could not find them.
It was whispered that the family had fled to another place.
I found a little room for the four of us and there we stayed for a while.
I conducted some trade to make some money and told my little family, “Let’s go to Nazareth and make us a home, finally.”
Shaqila is a versatile poet and a published writer with a short story entitled Fifty Laps in an anthology called ‘Champion Fellas’. She has poems published in an anthology, The Poetry Marathon and a chapbook by Penang Writers called NutMag. Shaqila is also a stand-up comedienne with sayitmeanitpenang.
In the poet's own words with regards to 'The Fourth Wise Man': The idea of the fourth wise man is not new; in fact, there is even a movie about it. This is just my take on it.
I was on my way to see the One whom people said was to be the Redeemer; a baby born, so pure, so holy, perhaps he would be my answer.
My journey was hindered by a dying donkey along the way that blocked the path to my destination.
I carried/dragged the poor donkey to the side and waited until his spirit departed and I sang his Spirit to the sky.
I was on my way again or so I thought, because out of the bushes came a young girl carrying a baby she could not have birthed.
She said, “Please help, Master. The soldiers have killed my parents and I had to run away with my brother. Could you give us shelter/refuge till we reach my mother’s brother in Bethlehem?”
I had no choice, though not willing.
So, we travelled together to reach my destination; young girl, baby, and I.
My journey would have been smooth thereafter but across us who should pass but a woman of dark complexion, luscious black hair, and alluring green eyes.
She said, “Save me, O Master. Make me your temporary wife, so that those hoodlums would stop taunting me, at least until we reach Bethlehem. There I will find my relatives.”
I hated it, this company.
I was a lone traveller, my camel and I.
But I had no choice.
I did not wish to die in guilt someday thinking of ‘what if’ and ‘I should have’.
So, our travel party grew, as my supplies dwindled.
In the cold desert, we all huddled; the pretty lady, the young girl, the baby, and I.
By my count, we would reach Bethlehem in three days time.
There I could ask around to the One’s abode.
Surely, he must be in a safe place.
I heard even Kings were on their way to visit him.
The morning prior to reach my destination, the baby ran a fever.
So, we stopped at a Bedouin camp and asked the women for some assistance.
An old lady, perhaps the medicine woman, came out with some leaves which she placed on the baby’s forehead and some goat’s milk she said would be nourishing.
Soon after, the fever subsided and so I thanked them and having not much in hand to pay, I handed them my extra clothes, travel collections, and some precious perfumes.
They gave us some food, goat’s milk, and water, bid us safe journey and we were on our way.
A little while more and we would be there; I was excited.
I laughed and sang.
The lady joined in though she didn’t know the songs.
The baby gurgled amused and I thought all was well.
We stopped for the night and I could almost see/smell the little town’s lights.
I would be there to see the One when morning came and maybe then my life would not seem so dark.
I did not know my birth parents; an old woman took care of me.
As soon as I was old enough, I left her and went on my journey.
I call it journey but I had no destination.
I reached many places but I was never home.
The sun rose brilliant on the morning of my last travels.
We gathered our belongings, saddled the camel, and continued our walk to Bethlehem.
The young girl was happy; she held my hand.
The lady held the baby and almost cuddled it against her bosom.
For a minute, I felt my stomach churn and my heart skipped a beat.
Was this home? I wondered.
But these temporary refuge seekers had their own destinations.
I could not impose myself on them though the past few days had been incredible.
Was this how a family felt, with a little girl to hold my hand and a precious wife to take care of us?
I turned and looked at the lady.
She smiled and said, “Just a little while more, Master. Don’t worry.”
Had I the courage, I would have asked there and then for her to be my wife but I was too self-deprecating to think such a beautiful one would even agree.
My journey then became slow and arduous.
We crossed some merchants returning from the town.
They said, “Shalom, the town is ripe for trade. Go have some fun.”
I asked them if they knew where the One was born and stayed.
They said, “We don’t know of the One but maybe you can ask around.”
Thus, we continued into town.
First, we went looking for the young girl’s uncle, her mother’s brother. People knew of him but said he had now gone to be a soldier.
I didn’t know what to do; the young girl looked frightened and though tears were on the brink of her eyes, she stood still and smiled and asked, “Master, maybe I can be your child?”
I wanted to cry just then, filled with unfathomable emotions but I was a man, a traveller who had seen much, who knew men didn’t cry, much less in front of a little girl.
So I hugged her and wiped my eyes behind her back and said, “Child you shall be my daughter and your brother will know me as his father.”
The lady, as with all ladies, let her tears fall freely as she hugged us all and said, “Master, I would like to be your wife for real this time and mother to these children if you will have me?”
I didn’t know what to say.
My inner longings seemed to be fulfilled but still we needed to find the One, so I said, “Sure, I am a lucky man today to get a family.
I must find the One and thank him for the blessings I have received along the way.”
We searched, the four of us, for the One and his family but we could not find them.
It was whispered that the family had fled to another place.
I found a little room for the four of us and there we stayed for a while.
I conducted some trade to make some money and told my little family, “Let’s go to Nazareth and make us a home, finally.”
Shaqila is a versatile poet and a published writer with a short story entitled Fifty Laps in an anthology called ‘Champion Fellas’. She has poems published in an anthology, The Poetry Marathon and a chapbook by Penang Writers called NutMag. Shaqila is also a stand-up comedienne with sayitmeanitpenang.
In the poet's own words with regards to 'The Fourth Wise Man': The idea of the fourth wise man is not new; in fact, there is even a movie about it. This is just my take on it.