Alone in the world, so fragile
There is no one to care for him
He slowly walks along the strip
Of stones flanked by emptiness.
Slapped by the winds, skinned by the hail
He moves forward, for he believes
In the other side.
In his back, easy shrieks
From communities still reach his eardrums.
Bullets of words grazing so close.
The stone strip floating at bay
Shrinks as he moves further.
Here, his inner vision sharpens.
It would not take much
For the blade to fracture.
In the Realm of the Fragile
Solitudes welcome and
Cancel each other out.
There is no other choice, here
But to have faith in this.
Bloodied drops of fatigue
Bead and flow away.
Reason does not mean anything
No one will follow him
And he won’t have a backward glance.
How many have started it ?
And how many have really walked it ?
The lion does not talk.
Pure darkness does not count.
In the tunnels of time
He has found forgotten writings
In tatters, breathing their last breath…
in the sail of the fragile hearts.
Laying there, in plain view
Common eyes did not see.
Ragged souls, like his,
Spilling words, tears, clotted blood,
Silent cries, only appearing,
Behind the eyes’ pane
When it slightly sways.
Behind those eyes, behind the panes of his fathers,
Buried in the past of contemporary eras,
He found the strength to place
One foot, then another,
To shift his weight forward,
Dragging his navel along
The invisible line
Drawn from the Land of The Fragile.