When his soul was still young
Arrows were shot at him.
Wherefore he fell
And lay on the ground helpless.
Many more arrows flew in like rain drops.
And he lay face downwards.
They thought he was going to die
And they said, “let us bury him
For he will never live again.”
But there emerged a second soul
Out of the first – littler but stronger (a split)
And this little one dragged him into a lair.
Where he stayed until he became a man.
Now, every day he sees those who shot at him.
And he tells them: “Hey you owe me an apology.
You wounded me many years ago with your arrows.”
But each time they answer, saying:
“Who are you? We do not know you. We never shot at you.
Even if we did we were trying to protect you.”