Lone Warrior

By Mariyam Hameeda

The war

Has drifted me quite afar.

Deeper I go in the field

Harder my sword bleed.

Victory is far, I believe,

But its insight is what I weave

Beaten down, I tasted the mud

It had a smell, like that of blood.

But the colour, all black

Its texture, was of smack.

It was mine,

I was betrayed, by my own spade.

Dripping blood came from my blade

How can the be deceived?

By the weapon he has seized.

On the sequence,

I did feel a lot of pain,

But my dagger was not a bane,

It had cut me, for a reason

That, though was not of treason.

For a realization, that,

Pain comes from self destruct,

From the thoughts we construct,

Its not always from outside,

But its Us,

Killing oneself, INSIDE.

And THIS war,

Is to be fought alone,

Crossing all those treacherous paths,

Of conflicting mind and soul of mine,

The Lone Warrior at the end,

Must hold the sword, and Shine.

By Mariyam Hameeda