THE VICTOR

A shadow sneaks up to the Sun ;
Warrior persists beneath.
He smashes the suffering with a touch of his soles,
Adorned with his victorious sandals,
His heart pounding fast.
„How would you accept glory?“, the Elders surrounded him.
„What is your choice : wisdom or love?“
„For love I have never come“, said he.
Certain Form was uprooted long ago, yes, you, Elders.“
As soon as he said it, they killed him by deceit,
Stabbed him with a spear, them, the Hermits ;
Glassy was his voice.
From time immemorial, or since then,
The Elders have been seeing him, serene, walk in the sand.