Walking...

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In a great mansion, I dwelled with my family.

All I ever desired—I had.

The red wine and the bread—

Not just anyhow bread,

But a bread so sweet,

Its taste defied description.

We had Favour—our chief security officer,

Mercy—our personal assistant,

Grace—our director,

Blessing—our aide.

Our home was blissful, peaceful, filled with love and joy.

Yes, a few cracks here and there—

But Favour, Mercy, Grace, and Blessing were always there.

My grandfather—so rich,

The owner of all.

He held not only mansions but companies and vast estates

Called Universe.

He was the first and only—

The one who built it all when the lands were barren and void.

He had no father, no mother.

He simply was.

The beginning of beginnings.

He desired for every member of His companies and estates

To own a mansion.

Yet, lo! Not many wanted it.

Not many worked for it.

Not many waited for it.

Most went their own way,

Heads held high but hearts misplaced—

G.P.S.-less.

Position-less.

Use-less.

Only a few chose to remain,

To work and wait

For what was promised.

Boom!

On a sunny day, I looked out the window.

What did I see?

“Beauty and gold…”

“Books and pens…”

“Swords and crowns…”

Desire rose within me.

I thought to claim them,

Forgetting my Father held them all in abundance.

And then—

A struggle began.

A war within me,

Two kingdoms clashing:

The white cavalry vs. the dark sickle.

War…

War…

Blood splashing.

I saw my Father—

Commander of the white cavalry.

Furious, fierce, holding the souvenir

He earned from His final battle—

Marked with death, but crowned in glory.

They fought—man to man.

My Father at the forefront.

But I…

In a moment unguarded—

I was captured by the sickle forces.

I saw my Father—

Weeping, wailing…

Tears like blood flowed from His eyes.

He called to me:

“Son! Son!! Son!!!

Please come home!

Please come!

I love you!

Must I die again to prove My love?”

But I turned a deaf ear—

To His voice, His pain, His plea.

As it always happened

When my lost brothers left the mansion…

I followed the dark sickles,

Chasing their promises:

“Beauty… Glory… Pride… Knowledge… Wealth… Freedom…”

Farther and farther I went,

Yet still, I heard His fading echo:

“Son, I love you… Come home… Please…”

But the farther I strayed,

The fainter His voice became.

(Sad music playing…)

Boom.

Darkness.

What do I see?

Are these the promises?

Why are men chained?

Why do they cry for help?

Why are they so… lost?

I saw kings and queens,

Knights and bishops,

Castles and rooks,

Books and charts, pens and swords—

Dining, meeting…

Yet chained.

Moment by moment,

Men became like sickles—

Wrapped in nothing but filthy rags.

Moment by moment,

I saw my Father’s captains arrive—

Unchaining the crying, the lost, the forgotten.

I searched with all my might for:

“Beauty and gold…”

“Books and pens…”

“Swords and crowns…”

But it was all vanity—

Bitter, like sponge soaked in vinegar.

I wept.

In pain.

In anguish.

I knew—soon—

I too would be sickled.

Nothing left in me.

Nothing left on me.

Just like the prodigal, I remembered…

My Father’s last words:

“Son, I love you.”

I remembered the memories…

The beauty…

The mansions…

I once called home.

And I wept—

Not just ordinary tears,

But a deep, soul-wrenching cry.

I stooped low.

I knew I needed help.

And I cried out.

Out of nowhere—

Unexplainable, unthinkable—

My Father came.

With His first expression—

A beautiful, radiant smile—

He whispered:

“Son, I love you.

I really missed you.

We missed you.

Your Father needs you.

Let’s go home.”

©

EMPIRE