I)
The wolves surround him only in the dead of night
When he is alone in the circle of jagged stones.
Only once have paws broken the circle
(Once was enough for an eternity of shuddering)
Something rises and falls within him
A something which vanishes without the misty breath
Of proud canines waiting, watching him with hungry stare;
A something he cannot find alone in his tower
When the sentinels are at the gate
Yet here he is alone, with the wolves and the cosmos
And the moon
He searches through the night
Like a dancer, like a philosopher
Like both at once
The danger his divine inspiration
His body his parchment
His body his inquiry
Embodied, frightened, inescapable
He knows and feels the struggles
Feels the tingles, the scorching biles
He feels close to death
He fears the howls, and the growls
He hates the stench of dog
He wants to destroy them for defying him
Searching for what it is within which makes him so
Why does it not just go away?
Why can his will not wrestle it down?
Why can it not be dreamed away?
A voice answers to himself, from a place of paradox
Within him and yet not him:
'As the taste of water cannot but help grace your lips
As the chill night air cannot help but cover your skin
As your heaving breast cannot help rising and falling
So your sixth sense cannot turn away from peril'
He asks: 'what is that sense, that sixth sense inside?
What does it find, what does it seek'
He is fortunate tonight; another answer!:
'It seeks the world outside.
And what is it made of but Nature itself?
The push of a creature, its natural desires
The torch that cannot be put out
The striving, the unfolding
Its dignity, its distinction
Against the hostility of all things;
The hostility of a world'
A world beyond! A world sensible by intuition
That cannot be an illusion
Something other than he, perhaps more powerful
The creator which will destroy him
A world inescapable, irresistable
Situations and circumstances
And he laments his condition
II)
In the circle of protection the wolves creep
The wise ones wait, a fool may attack
The fool is the danger, the sight of mangy fur his biggest fear
The circle is not enough
His sixth sense knows it, and he searches for something else
A sign, a weapon, a shield, a hole to hide away
He cannot find one
He must find one
Regeneration?
He fears the wounds
Though the body-hurt heals
Heals itself, the wounds heal,
But fear of wounds never does
Strength?
He fears his lack of strength
Though he is strong
He fears his fear of lack of strength!
Sometimes it prevails
But strength tested eventually fails.
Retreat?
He fears what will happen to his spirit
To fly, and fly again, ever afraid
Ever weak and hopeless
He can never outrun the shadow of fear
Lute-song?
He fears the echo of his favourite strains
Will forever haunt him and contain wolves
In between their notes
Allies?
It is dark
There are none here
Virtue?
Something lights in his chest
The pulsing of virtue
Embedded in his heart
Virtue, his ally, his sole ally
Is this his passage from the wolves?
The voice speaks mockingly:
'What do the flesh-eaters know of virtue?
Whatever your disposition, they seek only your flesh!
What good virtue shone upon unscrupulous men
Let alone wolves?'
The dancer and the philosopher answers
Flitting between the jagged stones, growing ever surer
'I am virtuous, I may die peacefully
I may be blasted from my body into the sparkling yonder
Of the earthly heavens.
From the tale I draw purpose and from the purpose i draw virtue
Did you not know that all life was a story, and virtue the rules of its collective author?
Did you not know that I have one choice, to embody virtue whatever the peril?
I could at least always do that!
Fire cannot harm me, nor water drown me,
The gale cannot push me, the earth cannot swallow me
Though they rend my body, I am virtue embodied!'
He grew in confidence, skirting closer and closer to circle's edge
The wolves looked one to the other in concern
The wise one smiling a wry smile
iii)
His heart raced, his blood flowed keenly
And he gained a suit stronger than any mail
Harder than iron, enduring like stone
Virtue, virtue filled him!
He smiled to himself
The wolves never left that night
But he walked through them all the same
And the solemn creatures watched him vanish
Toward the light of the moon
Fearlessly sleeping like a child between the roots of an oak
Trustingly waiting the day
Selim 'Selim' Talat
