The Captain Who Withered.

By Arnav Mall

With knives in my back, 

Poison down my throat, 

Barrels galloped, 

Emptied sheaths it's missing swords. 

Knives in hand they plot,

All and all, in the alleys dark their snares rot. 

The ship has withered, 

The captain's dead,

The anchors worn out, and the wheels lost the crank. 

I lie on the deck of a long withered ship, 

Skins of vine flowing down the rim, 

"The captain has failed" Say the crewmen, 

The ship has sunk in the midst of winds. 

The barrels of poison they have poured down my throat,

The horse is stuck in a dark moat, 

Knives in my back are many to count, 

And many Brutus have pierced their Ceaser, 

My heart has stopped, for deep are the wounds. 

A well dry, like a sheath cry, 

Void and despair linger on in the depths of eye. 

Yet still Brutus smile as though a wry. 

The Willow tree watches the captain stabbed, 

Poison gushing down the very face with sorrow trapped. 

The Goshawk sits on the tree, brushing off the nameless flowers. 

"The captain is dead" They proclaim, 

With joy in their hearts, 

Yet the sheaths are still empty, 

The well is dry, the crank is lost. 

And the anchor has worn off.

By Arnav Mall