'Come closer,' he said finally, 'And have your rest',
This offer I've accepted gratefully.
'You must be coming from the city? Can you tell me,
What happened there?' - 'A bloody mayhem,' I replied.
'Possessed barbarians are having their night'.
The old man nodded in acknowledgement.

I asked,
If anybody has been passing here before?
'A few,' he said. 'But none of them have told me,
What they've been running from, yet none have stayed for long.
Apparently they've made their choice'. 'There is
Not many choices left,' I said. The old man shrugged:
'Perhaps there's never had been any choice,
And every step we make has been pre-written,
But just as far as it's a subject of beliefs,
I'm choosing to believe that there are lots of options,
And none is terminal.' His words have stirred
Inside me something strange and very wrong.

The twisty shades cast by the fire upon the trees
Invoked a rush of my own dreary memories -
About the choices I have made mistakenly,
About the errors I could never fix,
As they've been turning terminal perpetually,
About my cowardice, and treacheries committed,
That I have failed to atone for or repent.
And hate...
They all are constantly with me,
Like silent witnesses those stand around a pit,
Wherein a sole fighter his own self is tryin' to beat...
And as though echoing my thoughts the old man asks:
'Are those the things that you just won't shed?
Are they the burden that you treasure dearly so?'

Did I speak this aloud, I asked. He said,
''Tis of no matter, if you did or not.
What matters is the things you've brought along,
And how much of them you are composed.'

I failed to answer, 'cause I didn't know,
If there's a difference between me and my past.

He said: 'Our delusions tend to outlast
Ourselves, but when they're taking over
Sometimes the symbols come to our aid.
Behold...' He turned and pointed at a strange
Construction: two forked poles united with
A crossbar - like a doorway... But beyond
There was a freezing forest, nothing more.
Or something else? - 'It's up to you', the old man said.

In indecision I've been tarrying for a while,
But if I pass there - what do I have to lose?
I'd eagerly let go those woes…
'Allow me to stay here for a moment,'
I said. 'Perhaps this fire and its warmth
Is what I'll never going to see or feel again'.

The old man nodded, and then threw some brushwood
Into the flame. As soon as it had burnt,
I stood up and approached that 'doorway'.

'Farewell', I said. 'And thank you. One more thing
I'd like to know - your name.'
'It doesn't matter,
Besides, in fact you know yourself', he said.
I bowed before the old man, turned away,
Closed my eyes tight, and stepped into the doorway.
And silence fell upon me in a trice...