by
D. L. Charles
Copyright February 2001
I saw him there in the dust of the street.
The filthy old man with the vacant stare.
His clothes were tattered, no shoes on his feet.
My God, I wondered, Why is he there?
He was begging coins from those who passed by.
Had he no pride, no sense of shame?
How could he lie there, like a pig in a sty?
I felt a revulsion, a sadness, even a bit of blame.
How could he lie there in the New Mexico dirt?
He wasn't that old, this ragged old man.
Did he give up on life, did he suffer some terrible hurt?
What could make a human simply not give a damn?
The stench of urine, the liquor's strong smell,
the filth of his garments, the grime of his skin,
as he lay there like some vision from Hell,
this poor soul was burning from within.
I heard people mutter as they quickly walked by.
"Damn drunken Indian, what a pitiful sight!"
The turned away heads, the occasional sigh,
did nothing to help with this poor man's plight.
I knew this man , when I was learning my powers.
He taught me the things that I must learn.
How to hunt, to track the prey, to lie silent for hours,
to accept the fact sometimes we cannot have what we yearn.
He taught me pride, to live with respect, and never to lie.
He showed me the heavens, he taught me learning was fun.
I stared down at him, wondering WHY!,
why was this man lying in filth, what had he become?
He was my mentor, my reason to try, to take it all in stride.
He showed me the world,in all of its shame,and some of its glory,
then taught me to turn within -
This pitiful drunk lying there,what was his story?
I felt the tears flow freely on my face
as I picked up this man,and held him to my chest,
as I prayed to the spirits to hold back a pace,
to let this poor soul at last find some rest.
I stood there in silence, my grief open to see.
He was no burden to me, this ragged old man with so little motion.
I felt his last breath as his head rested on me.
Freedom at last to this spirit of life, of love, of devotion.
As his breath faded, his spirit arose like a flame.
A giant proud eagle stretched out each wing,
then lifted to the heavens from whence it came.
No more drunken old Indian here, but instead a purified Shaman, at last able to sing.
