THE WHITE CLAD WARRIOR

He standeth alone in the ground,
Clad in an armour and a sword.
The war will start with no time left,
“Why?” He wondered, “were people dead”.
He knew so, their best warrior was he,
Unsure if that’s what he’s meant to be.
The wind ,it flew, the stench of blood,
Hundreds dead, was to repeat itself.
The dilemma, that always conquered his mind,
To leave back the truth, his greatest find.
But, thousands await him, their destiny-his war,
He wanteth not this, he fell,
On his knees, on the ground.
Head dug deep in his hands.

And limbs pulled close,
He lay there like a kid,
Between his mothers clothes.
He’s lost all he loved,
He’s lost them,one and all.
The war his enemy,
For it snatched his loved, his family.
Now,He his greatest enemy.
‘Coz, goes forth is He,
to create like him many.
He had to break, this chain of fate,
He had to go,but knew not which way.
The images of the dead,
The charred bodies in their bed.
He clutched his fists,
And these danced around in his head.
Their cries so loud, his own cries-he remembers.
He gathered his strength,
And stood on his legs.
On top of the hill stanedeth he,
A dead ground soon to be.
Pulled his sword,lifted to his head and swore,
“shall not I kill another soul”.
But he couldn’t go back,
Coz destined was his death.
Here or near that river bed,
Were Emperors wait ,
Their best messengers return,
So, ended he, his life.
And spared thousand others.

On the sand that now drained his blood,
A note , wrote he, on his death bed.
They found him, the Emperors.
Their best messenger had indeed brought a message to all,
“The true enemy,lies not in him.
But in his reflection that’s in me”.