On the Road to Damascus
On the road to Damascus, we walk—
The guilty, the ignorant, the egotists.
With our ashen faces
And threadbare skin,
Confined and self-absorbed,
Some dare to speak of destiny—
Of there being no other way.
But the road is long and many fall by its side,
And nobody weeps for the defeated,
Their compassion picked clean by ravenous vultures
Who turn honest men into fading shadows.
Oh, they had me for a while,
Got me chasing poisonous dreams.
Yet Damascus always waited.
So I take perilous steps
Towards that light beyond the fog,
Like my fellow travellers,
All I hope is to ease the burden upon my shoulders
And feel the sunlight brush my eyes.
I caress the bristles upon my face,
And check the soles of my shoes.
I have no pride left to swallow,
Nor tears left to seep.
I cleanse my hands with the dawn's dew
And pray to fog where the city sleeps.
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