The Prisoner

Once upon a time that is no more,

there was a merry town set among the woods and hills,

where the faces of the people shone like olives

and the sun dwelt in every home, even the smallest.

In that slumbering town, it seldom rained,

and nobody knew what an umbrella was.

Happiness was everywhere,

hanging from the trees and the faces of children.

But the tranquility of the olive people

was challenged by a castle,

gloomy and mighty, looming over the town day and night.

There, locked deep beneath its labyrinthine dungeons,

a prisoner awaited his fate.

Nobody in the town remembered why he was chained,

what terrible crime had condemned him

to that tomb where none dared to enter,

not even the rays of the moon.

All the prisoner could hear

over the endless hours were his sighs and tears,

falling from sorrowful eyes.

But one night, when the moon was full and bright,

the prisoner heard a voice calling.

After all those years,

he had forgotten the sound of his own voice,

and it took him a while to remember how to speak.

“Who’s calling?” he asked, hoping it was not just a dream.

“A wayfarer,” a girl said with a melodious voice.

“Tell me, prisoner, what crime have you committed

to be buried where none dares to enter?”

“A thousand years in this cell I must dwell,”

the prisoner sadly admitted,

“for not knowing how to love.

A thousand nightmares await me

before the cage will open,

and I may finally leave.

But see, wayfarer, I do not wish to flee,

for what are a thousand nightmares worth

if her smile is gone forever,

if her heart lies buried in a tomb?”

The mysterious wayfarer seemed to hesitate at first,

but after thinking it over, she said:

“Prisoner, can’t you see the cage is already open?

It is the very nightmares haunting you

that keep your eyes from seeing

the dim light of freedom.

It is you, and only you,

who must dig out the most precious treasure of all:

a smile.”

The young man looked carefully

and, drawing near to the bars,

realized there was no padlock or chain

to keep him locked in that jail.

Nobody had ever chained him,

and when the wayfarer pushed the door of his cell,

it opened with a squeak,

its rusted hinges falling away.

The prisoner, who was a prisoner no more,

thanked the girl, and together they walked out of the castle,

ready to wander, ready to dig out smiles,

ready to speak words so beautiful

that they would make the stars shine

and keep spinning this world.

-          by Jason R. Forbus and Michela de Spagnolis