Solidarity's Road

i

Road-hardened soles of my feet grow weary,
slowly trudging onward, the path of solidarity.
Each footfall threatens to fall in my face.
No forks, deviations, or pit stops in place.
The horizon looms in its infinite haze.

My enamel wears thin, about to give in,
yet I keep marching along in a daze.
I was set on this path of dust in my face
by a series of sins, a lover’s and mine.

 

Each transgression etched in remembrance.

Unfocused haze of the shimmering skyline.
As I urge forward a dot resolves itself.
As I urge closer it grows ever bolder,
until it resembles a carcass and vulture,

which speaks:

 

“What is it ye seek, the bird or the beak?
Your future lies onward, your past ever in tow.

This path you’re trudging is one of your choosing,

remember that well, traveling Solidarity’s Road.”

To this I reply:

 

“No solace to find, what appears in my eye,

the bird and the beak both broke what I seek.

F**k your scavenging ways and words pseudo-wise.

Vacate my path, vulture, or I’ll tread thee in kind.”

 

The vulture digests this, pecking at the corpse’s bits,

seeming to swallow it all, to break it down small.

Carcass’ maggots had long been mummified,

the same can be said of the breath in my sigh.

More words spewed from his beak:

 

“Carrion bird I may be, but these old eyes still see.

Dancing this path of dusty bones is for phantoms.

Mock me not weary traveler, for I see the answer

which perpetually ye pursue as the wind does water.

Seek ye not the path of perpetuity.

Unleavened loaves lie broken behind ye.

Gorge on that, grow fat, relax, happy.

Steer ye clear the Road of Solidarity.”

 

Reluctant, I sit, legs crossed over gravel bits.

Truculent, moods remit, gazing over carrion stench.

Vulture’s tongue tearing flesh, ripping asunder meaty strings.

Around our trio, dry and barren soil surrounds.

This palaver continues on.

 

“Devourer of rotten meat, hear me well and listen neat.

Advice I take comes not from the likes of thee.

The path I seek lies beyond the grasp of the meek.

One such as thee accepts such lowbrow destiny.

The end of this road marks the start of my own.

Deter me not, detour I won’t,

your face and food can’t block me.”

 

The vulture fixes his eyes on me.

“Determination will only bring submission,

ye who walks this sandy path will find,

there’s nothing but inevitability to get behind.

Continue on and discover this on your own.”

 

The reflection on the surface of the vulture’s black, beady eye

shows me as I slowly rise, wind in my face,

raise my hands to wring the vulture’s neck,

setting him back down dead as his last meal.

My journey will not be stopped by the likes of scavengers.

I brought this one his inevitability.

I continue down this long and windy road.

 

ii

The dust on my coat shakes off with each step of my flight.

Wind in my face, no end to this place within my sight.

Lovely little to do but push onward, nowhere to hide.

All will be lost if I don’t face this path of my plight.

Only my memories and mistakes accompanying.

 

My enamel wears thin, about to give in,
yet I keep marching along in a daze.
I was set on this path of dust in my face
by a series of sins, a lover’s and mine.

 

Each transgression etched in remembrance.

 

Blasts of wind batter my body, gusty blockade.

Pressing on into the gale, the breeze turns bitterly frigid.

Sapping my warmth, stealing my strength, it blows as a blade.

Its yowl deafening, its force a reckoning, I stand rigid,

and add my scream to the wind’s:

 

“Erisian Gods, foul pranksters of fate, I demand of Thee!

What bidding, what other sacrifices are required of me?

I walk this path of Solidarity to forgo my own memory,

to cure this plague that follows, to attempt serenity.

Why then humiliate me with this foul mockery?”

 

Only deafening storms of hollow sound answer my cry.

Only freezing drafts of fierce cacophony respond.

Huddled and shivering, painful remembering,

icy fingers of recollection, of our newly broken bond,

and “It’s going to be a cold winter,” pithy prophecy of mine.

 

“Gods of misfortune and tortured fates, of Thee I beseech!

Deliver me from these artic surroundings, my goal I cannot reach!

Cast from my lover’s side, tossed into these dusty streets,

‘tis providence most cruel to bear, without her Destiny weeps!

What offering is it you seek?”

 

Again, it is only the raging wind which replies,

fury of the storm mirrored within mine own eyes.

Truth uncovered can devastate more than the erosion of time,

for, eyes widened in understanding, this epiphany strikes as a chime.

Through me it sings:

 

“Ye Gods who impassively watch, forgive my erroneous blame.

Anger from my heart’s depth should target only my own name.

Guilt drips off of my brow, staining the soil, head bowed in shame.

Vulture’s words ring true, this path is what I choose, this fact I proclaim.

Everything that’s been done to me can be traced back to my name.

Heuristic satori, thine noble eye arises from the flame.

Ye Gods in whose name I cried, I beg forgiveness, my plea defame.”

 

The wind in its ever-present force does not waver,

the sting of frost biting through to my bones does not melt.

Yet my strength to persist, emboldened by truth’s closure, is nurtured.

Able to accept, able to continue, I pull my coat tighter and step forward.

This chill will travel with my bones until the end of this path.

There’s no fire to seep it away,

no shelter to recover ‘til day.

Walking through this winter tempest,

I continue on this long and lonely road.

 

iii

Onward I seek, onward I creak, each step but a creep,

winding road circumscribed by naught but dust and void.

Deviation only leads to a soul’s decimation.

Vibrations of the broken path resonate within.

This path that I have chosen tries to break me all over again.

 

My enamel wears thin, about to give in,
yet I keep marching along in a daze.
I was set on this path of dust in my face
by a series of sins, a lover’s and mine.

 

Each transgression etched in remembrance.

 

Ahead on this path that I eternally wear

appears a majestic river of beautiful brown hair.

Windblown, it stretches back to the ever-setting sun,

shadows of it wave wildly, bullets of a gun.

Ahead of me floats the face of my desire.

 

Skin the color of the dust storm whirling ‘round,

this visage I once was accustomed to view lying down.

Nose soft and curving below eyes with lids Oriental-round;

words of wisdom, poetic kingdoms, wit of Dionysian fortitude,

came from lips like the brush of an angel’s cloud;

and this:

 

“Solitary one, run no more from past misfortunes.

Solidarity, a passing dream; to self-unity we cannot cling.

Take this face with you wherever you shall go.

Remember me always, I’ll stay with you whatever winds blow,

keep desire strong, for it brings light.

Warmth and comfort do not follow far behind.”

 

Knees buckling beneath me, I let my legs collapse.

Knuckles hit the ground, dust billows out, perhaps;

these things only happen to me peripherally.

Ahead of me all I perceive: desire’s shore, lapping my body.

A great whirlpool without water, only dust and memory.

This I see, and this I state:

 

“Thee is not the person for whom I still weep,

merely a manifestation of the desire I still keep.

Relax thy ways, my grip is not that feverish.

Desire has no place in this path that I step.

Instead, I decry myself this endless anguish.

For desire knows no limits,

yet anguish burns itself out.

 

“Desire, slay me not, stay me not, claim me not as thy own.

I’ll respect thee due to proximity, as what I see comes from within.

Burning fury in my beating heart must not be fed more kindling,

else all I see around thee be scorched from dusty history

by desirous rage, a hurricane of hurtful enmity.

 

“Each day without thee is a fresh wound in my heart,

yet the enormity of all that’s passed between us,

a shot in the dark, a saint’s downward spiral, broken harp,

the visions of which still rot in my mind, nearly stark.

These scenes still sting my bleeding heart.

There is but one thing to do.”

 

Gathering my cloak of wits around, I meditate.

Not moving from the spot I fell down, spine calm and straight.

From this spot I can not, shall not waver, mind situate.

Body forming the Buddha’s perfect shape, I meditate.

From this I form the strength to continue.

 

My soul becomes statue, immovable will.

Gazing through the vision I face with a leaden heart,

unwavering focus on this form before me nearly breaks me,

but this trial blocking me must be overcome.

The face of my desire starts to fade away.

 

Gradually the river of flowing long hair melts,

fallen strands of silk give way to a path of thorns.

Flickering, fading, her face continues pleading.

Ephemeral tears dropping in the dust,

until the path before me is again clear,

the thorns dry and brittle as death.

With a heart as heavy as the sea,

I continue on this long and dusty road.

 

iv

Chin touching throat, coat whipping without end,

I press on, not unnerved by constant wind.

Send me, save me, deliver me from memory’s sin,

Collar upturned, inner heat burns, salvation’s merely an end.

 

My enamel wears thin, about to give in,
yet I keep marching along in a daze.
I was set on this path of dust in my face
by a series of sins, a lover’s and mine.

 

Each transgression etched in remembrance.

 

Eyes on the ground ignore the approaching distance.

The first sign of something wrong reaches my ears as a hiss.

A low feline growl, rumbling from a massive chest,

breaks my focus from my steadily striding feet,

the source of this sound, behemoth tiger, another test.

 

A pair of eyes, blue and uncaring as the sky, digest.

Fur ripples in shifting colors, black to brown to blue and back.

Massive muscles now relaxed, yet poised to attack.

This beast surveys me, and I can see in its gaze

a desire to possess, to capture, to play.

 

The cold gusts blown between us echo the gaze that links us.

Below a paw the size of my torso lie bones driven from life to a worse woe.

A chill unrelated to the icy blasts of wind settles in my heart.

My path is blocked, this cat cares not, my vehemence stopped.

I try to appeal to reason:

 

“Vibrant feline, how easy it is that you recline,

this path of mine I’ve traveled isn’t soft.

My journey, you see, is one of Solidarity.

The company I keep is merely mine.

Please respect that and be kind.

If you would step aside…”

 

The cat’s eyes, blue and eroding as the sea,

relay only greed, no uncertain mystery.

They speak to me so emptily, compassion-free.

Lovely yet dangerous, built to scan rather than see.

They size me up as a potential new toy.

 

Wishing to remain undaunted, before a deadly first strike,

I draw deep air into my lungs, preparing for a fight.

It expels from my chest with all of my demons,

my fears, lost love, solitude unceasing, tears of true meaning,

a roar of pure passion attacks the cat.

 

Its ears flatten back, the insatiable eyes go wide,

obviously it wasn’t expecting a surprise.

Its fur becomes flat, the giant paws step back,

and from the fang-lined maw a feminine voice mewls.

 

“Dear traveler, forgive my aggression.

I beg your sympathy and mercy.

I am not accustomed to company on this lonely road.

So let me stand aside and you may continue on your way.”

Her claws clicked on the rocks on the side of the path as she stepped.

 

Wary as I am, my weariness betrays me.

As I pass her by, the sly look returns to her eyes.

I turn barely in time to see a blur of black.

On my back, paw over my chest, her fangs exposed.

A short growl:

 

“Dear traveler, your life is now mine.

Your journey ends here, it’ll save you time.

Before you arrived, my life was so empty.

Now I have you, and my gut will know plenty.

Prepare to be digested.”

 

Refusing to die, my hands scrabble over the ground.

Searching for something, for anything to help put up a fight.

My fingers close on nothing but sand, so that’s what I choose.

With both hands I throw my particulate weapons at the beast’s blue eyes.

Blinded and stunned, I’m something not fun, and I aim to not be a toy.

My reach increases as its paw releases and soon I can grab a hard stone.

It starts to lunge forward but ceases this motion when my hand with its rock hits a fang.

The tooth breaks clean, the cat’s scream of pain persuades my next move.

The rock smashes down between those feline eyes, over and over and over.

The rock keeps beating until only blood and tissue remain of its face.

Enraged still, I take my fresh kill and roll it over on its back, belly upraised.

The broken fang still cuts, so I dive it into the furry chest and create an incision.

From it comes a heart, still barely bleeding from torn off tubes.

I sit on my path and devour my meal, ritual acceptance of victory.

This task completed, my enemy eaten, I now rise.

With hot blood pumping through my heart like the fury of the blinding sun,

I continue down this long and deadly road.

 

 

 

v

The beat of my heart echoes the art of my footfalls.

The arch of my heel barely reveals myriad years.

Sweat of my cold brow reflects dark clouds of my psyche.

Road that I follow carves me hollow through bitter winds.

 

Stubble grown through negligence blankets my face.

Grit, dirt, sand, it all gets trapped and plastered sans grace.

Journey on which I’ve embarked at this steadily grueling pace,

the endgame grows near, self-inflicted obstacles erased.

There’s only one aspect of my soul to heal.

 

The tiger’s eyes haunt me still, blue, cold, and familiar.

The last time I saw that particular set,

the image of my face reflected in a mirror.

I see now what might have been possible,

if I had only but let myself fall further.

 

Those tiger eyes were spawned of my ego’s wanting.

 

The coward vulture had been the first on this path to fall.

With it at my side my vigor would’ve faded to a crawl.

The beady eyes only a disguise for dishonor and shame,

its ragged mane a reflection of a tendency to simply maintain.

Free of that anchor, carrion feather.

 

My cowardice quelled, I can finally face the inevitable.

 

The face of my past floating before me, all too soon.

A trying test, to be true, but failure fatal, wanting dues.

My desire struggling to overcome my ego.

Ending strife, jarring discord, inner turmoil.

Melting samsara by ceasing to turn the wheel.

 

The cycle of desire leads only to self-stagnation.

 

Frigid wind still blowing, echoing the warmth of my heart.

Yet the blood pumping through my veins fights with furious heat.

Acceptance of my role in the formation of my fate

grants reprieve from the harsh winter’s bitter bite.

Head held high with the defiance of Indra Himself.

 

This self-suppressing stigma gone, I am free to love again.

 

The wind picks up.

 

Rushing memories fade by me, torrential whirlwind of visions.

The windows to the past slide before my mind, inner images.

In them I see two ill-fated lovers, each driving the other to demise.

Love full of farewells, embraces of decay, romance effervescing.

The sigh of the final goodbye still clings to my heart.

 

Regardless, I stay in no other way fogged with the dark conclusion.

Reaping the tears of my weeping can bring forth no more creation.

Vanity, I may decide to portray events as never-changing.

Sleeping in sight of that heaping mound of sorrow is futile.

 

As I kneel in the road with these thoughts, I realize I am no longer fleeing them.

 

My gaze settles to the distant haze of the horizon.

I see before me a great column of hazy grey to the heavens.

Lazily it arches up, undulating at every point.

The final leg of my journey has arrived.

 

I march onwards, pace quickening and quickening, to the storm.

Winds do not slow me, the dust blown in my face naught but a nuisance.

Lucidly I stride, stride, stride toward that goal, each step but a pull.

I say,

 

“Column of grey, I know what you are, my journey will end at your door.

And for me I know exactly what is in store.

Do not fail your purpose, end my journey in these lands.

This I implore.”

 

Buddha’s heart within me beats to the pace of the blasts of wind, buffeting.

This end I will endure, rebirth absolutely must occur.

Even transitions have to end, as stepping up a set of stairs.

Focus onwards, ever onwards, knees groaning in despair.

For their fate I do not care.

But I must admit I’m a little scared.

 

Freedom from burdens can come with a cost.

 

Grey column transformed by closeness into a grand tornado.

Dust, sand, and rock dancing the turbulent dance that they know.

Hesitating only the barest of breaths, I throw myself in the windy inferno:

immediately the last part of my journey begins.

 

Chips and pieces of my bones break off.

Blood and tissue of my body scrape away

Billowing bursts of sandpaper wind tear my eyes.

Tendons exposed, muscles deposed, body enclosed in pain.

Yet through this all my blistered tongue can’t even scream.

 

True transformation begins with fortitude.

 

My enamel breaks down, face falls to the ground,

dust of my bones blending in with the haze.

I have finished this path with grit in my face,

Passed a series of trials, gifted and signed.

 

Each ordeal sketched on mental pavements.

Each transgression etched in pure transience.

Each transgression etched in effervescence.

 

Each step on Solidarity’s Road a testament of itself.

Author's Note

In part v, do you feel that stanzas 3 through 6 should be kept, or are they unnecessary?