i am striking the other towards my end,
blowing their guts down,
sending them to heaven,
when I dig my grave and prepare for hell.
i see his blood,
his blood strewn on the sands,
as red as mine,
as fearful as mine,
that flows beneath my eyebrows,
falling into the dust.
i shoot and duck,
i duck for my life,
but never i know the reason i strike for,
for never has the dead done wrong to me.
they might be my kith, my kin,
my own son, till the yester,
now, they are vile,
they are foes and I end their lives.
they drop dead to the ground,
their heads blown up,
their legs frantically wriggle in pain,
their eyes framed with the fear of death.
i am a sinner,
a sinner whose hands are soaked in blood,
i hunt them for his pleasure or gain,
i mend myself upon the call off,
heal my bleeding wounds.
i can never heal one wound
which seeps not blood,
but fear and dread,
of the morrow,
of the call of death.
my face is dewed in sweat,
my heart pours regret for a sin
that I did not in vengeance, but for
a handful of dime and a mouthful of grain.
there lay on the red sand bodies of my crime,
bodies lifeless and wriggling,
bodies of the valiant,
of the happy and the fearful,
martyrs of every kind,
faces of every colour.
there also lay my men,
struck with rods into their ribs,
and swords into their hearts.
misery thronged me in my every part.
what a fool I am,
to be puppeteered for another's pride,
oh. what a fool I am,
adorning heaps of karma, now.
there lie bloodied horses and elephants,
like my kith and kin,
lifeless and with sin.
golden chariots and wealth sabotaged,
while the enemies continue to strike in rage.
i shield a few arrows and swords,
blow, gash and stomp any soul in front of me.
as I punch, defend and stab,
i see my pain in the eyes of the other,
i see my fear in the face of my foe.
as i take a stab into my spine,
i repent committing such crime,
death spreads out her arms wide,
welcoming me for her cold hug with a sly smile.
i begin to shriek in sorrow and pain,
i succumb to her hug, bite the dust,
she clasps me with her thousand arms
sucking me out of breath and blood.
i start to wriggle on the field,
my arms clutching to my mouth,
my eyes tantalised in the ultimate fear,
my mind in sorrow and regret.
at the point of time,
i begin to live the unspoken,
my heart aches in sheer guilt for the wrong done,
i shout aloud 'what a fool I am,
Oh what a fool!
as tears pound my cheeks,
blood stains my shield,
i laugh uncontrollably looking at the one striking.
'oh dear brother, what a fool we are!'
Categories: English Poetry