The Tygre

by George A. Ronay


Galloping through the millennia, he is fearless, though seemingly unconscious of the lesson meats that litter his well-chosen path. Monks call him “Tiger of the Night”. Time is his teacher…

Transmigration of the soul does loiter through the ages. A slow, deliberate incarceration, unsavory to the palate of an impatient tygre, lashing out at the abyss that beckons. Time is his teacher…

Night nears itself to him, dulling once deadly fangs, yet making his heart purr louder. Still painful is the razor-sharp thorn, piercing his delicate paw. Desolate and lonely is the passage. Time is his teacher…

Warm and caressing is the morning sun, finding its way through the window, transforming the journey’s light. An anxious ear seeks out heartbeats, and as my tears dance off her soft, delicate skin… a truth is realized once again; the thorn is gone. Time is my teacher…