Hate

I picked up my worn leather bundle and hoisted it over my aching shoulder. Sweat ran down my nose, tickling on the way. Head lowered, eyes locked forward, I took the first heavy step, and the next… while the merciless sun glowered and turned up the thermostat.

Inside my bundle I carried my whole life. Forms of identity were lost early on this journey of necessity. When the cartwheel broke and the horse ran away overnight, I started the next day by leaving behind all but what little I could carry.

Each step hid the pain and left the memory one more step behind me. One day I would retrace my path. On horseback, riding fast, my bundle replaced with a weapon of iron.

The furnace for this weapon to be forged burned within my heart. The fuel shovelled violently in was slow-burning and would last my lifetime.

The only thing that could prevent this wrath from finding its mark, was a change of heart. If the heart of the one who stoked this fire, became unrecognisable as the hardened lump of carved stone horror that created such misery; that sent me into an exile of pain. This hardened lump has a shape that is not hidden from weapons forged in such flame.

Hate is my unforged weapon’s name.

Many of us walk alone down this path of pain. Time stops, and we turn as one, the day to retrace our paths has begun. The stockpiled tears fall from our worn leather bundles, caught into a whirlwind of vengeance, for those who kept on with their vicious game. The ones who judge them, are the ones from among them that walked away, the ones that refused to play. The ones who hoisted their own worn leather bundles and are here with us this day.