PART-1
We marched across the Asian plains,
With muddy boots and the slightest rain.
With commands galore no time to rest,
We marched onward into the Eagles nest.
The nest deserted, the journey a waste,
No joy left to relinquish, no victory left to taste.
Silence among our mournful numbers reigned,
No pride left to salvage, no martyrdom claimed.
The women of the nearby village with faces white as chalk,
With strangulated voices, they cannot talk.
Their pride unhinged, their modesty violated,
They curse their destiny, our presence ill-fated.
Faces veiled in black, their tears stain the ground,
While my comrades behave like savage bloodhounds.
Protests of fear and cries for help fill the air,
As the clouds of heaven turned grey with despair.
A man of youth sits bare,
Bruises from the whips among his stories to share.
Scars which run the entire length of his back,
Forged by the empathy my sorry soul lacks.
His black eyes of remorseful stares,
Pierce my heart leaving a tear,
A tear in the very fabric of my humanity,
I’m at war with my own audacity.
His lips devoid of water are hard and dry,
They move with slight tremors and silent cries.
A man reduced to a skeletal frame,
His end inched closer, until his respite came.
The rugged soil of yonder plains,
With drops of blood, the surface stains.
Ethereal tears of the innocent fall upon the earth,
A testimony of our mirth.
Shall I be plagued by the nightmares of these innocent villagers,
Who Treated with scant respect like a stranger cur?
Did I wrong these people for my people’s need,
Or are they just paying for my people’s greed?
PART-2
I came with joy but am left with pain,
I came for victory but am left with defeat.
I came to bring peace, but I brought destruction.
I came with love, but I only unleashed tears.
My head below its high mast hangs,
Whilst I stare at Cerebrus with its deadly fangs.
Across the Acheron, with Charon, I hope to sail,
For I can hear the Cocytus and its solitary wail.
I pray to my mother for her courage,
As I repent for my sins and seek homage.
Within this letter my words speak,
For her forgiveness is all I seek.
PART — 3
Cry not for me, I pray,
When six feet ‘neath the soil I lay.
Hold not onto me, I pray,
As my soul exits the fray.
Let my tombstone of chalk and seed,
Pronounce to those who wish to read,
“Here lies a man ignorant to life,
Nothing buried with him apart from his strife.”
These waters echo years of hate,
As Charon rows the boat across the strait.
The dead appear, the living fade,
No thoughts of fear, no regrets made.
Stare into the night’s dark abyss,
Think not of what is amiss.
Sing not of me as a legend of a man,
Speak of me as an incomplete man.
