Readers, this is a tribute to a warrior in my imagination, alike many others in the past. Naming any one will portray a bend towards a certain chain of thoughts. Let the veins within feel each word in the poem.

The sword bled alike the endless river of blood,

And their bodies besmeared of the love

that ever lived the dynasty,

It is then the faith and courage arouse among the warriors,

With their heads held high they left to the battlefields,

Where there had been no doubt about the vengeance,

But befriending the enemy was no choice,

 

Justice alike the sword was sharper than anticipated,

And implied to the worthy and with unanimity in each step,

He left with not a thought about his loved ones,

One never knew he may come back

But the pride that lay in the bosom of each flesh

Was beyond the eternal love that they are still endured for,

 

A broken armor and sharp blades

Those were the clues of his body

For he had blemished and for heaven sake

This wasn’t the destiny but his will

He fought to the last minute until the bullet

Touched what pumped (his only proof that he was human)

Because not everyone around the corpse

had sacrificed as much as he had

His existence was merely to the nation

 

And if he still had any more energy left

He would live for; it was for himself

He had the greed to live and unlike other patriots

He never stumbled into the battlefield for the sake of death

So he never feared it,

As death had never encountered a fierce soul such as his

And death choked by its guilty conscience

To bring  such men to heaven

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