Fated Lives of All

A Poem by Douglas Caraballo

Douglas Caraballo Mahairas

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Photo by Oscar De La Lanza on Unsplash

You are land locked
fated by vast swaths of mountain sides and seas.
Vagrant riders of destiny , and we are all bound it seems
by the density of our being at this time.

The earth is swallowed by a night that brushes
downward towards the land
like the wings of an owl. Old howl full gordian
pangs of breath.

Fated, and bound in bone and robes of flesh.
Fated here

to perish and rust. Salt rimmed hair, star touched

yet to me — through thine eyes
your grandparents get older. Aged and older.

The nation is fated. Landlocked and fated in
fatalistic folly. Quadrants and templates

of colder old world rituals bubble up through
the eyes. How much fate can you bear responsibility for?
How many sacrifices and tears can you shoulder ?

I no longer run. I no longer walk the great distance across
the George Washington bridge, envisioning myself a hero
holding hands — legs like oak trunks against the New York skyline.
I no longer walk the snow laden streets that sit like salted plains
of fresh sand. The city covered in the light of a pink lithium pool.

What is fate? This hard headed geometry? What are you if not yellow eyes of night?
What are you if not some lost tribal god dragging us unwilling through temporality?

The land is locked. The chess board heaves under tsunamic weight
and the seismic shock of belief. Go Downward into the land and bear witness.

Ye who’s breath defies fate.

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