The Storm And The Sage (An Epic Poem Inspired By Socrates) Poem by Dorukhan Baris Oguzcan

In marble streets of ancient lore,
Where wisdom walked from door to door,
A sage named Socrates did tread,
With thoughtful eyes and silvered head.
But not alone he bore the flame—
A tempest shared his mortal name.

For by his side, though few may know,
A firestorm woman cast her woe.
With voice like thunder, sharp and high,
She'd shake the walls and pierce the sky.
At every dawn, her wrath would blaze,
And drive him forth through Athens' haze.
Till dusk returned, he wandered far,
In still pursuit of truth and star.

Yet never once he raised his voice,
Nor cursed the weight of fated choice.
He'd simply nod and breathe the air,
As if her storm was not his care.
And when she struck with words and rain,
He smiled through water, soft in pain:
'Well, after thunder, comes the rain...'

She raged. She roared. Her fire unfurled.
But he, unmoved, beheld the world.
With every shout, he grew more wise—
For peace, he learned, was not in skies.
It lived within the silent mind,
Where storms grow quiet, and truth is kind.
He thanked her rage in secret tone,
For from her fire, his calm was grown.

One night, her anger reached too high,
It seized her heart beneath the sky.
And there she fell, her fury spent,
While Socrates in silence bent.
No tears he shed, no grief he cried,
But bowed his head as wisdom sighed.

Her name dissolved like fading rain,
While his grew vast on scroll and plain.
For though she lived in storm and flame,
He walked through stillness to acclaim.