Scars Of An Archer: A Poetic Rendition✅

Day 1: First Day of the Battle

The dawn breaks red, like the anger in my veins,
As Kurukshetra echoes with warriors' refrains.
My bow, the mighty Gandiva, rests in my hand,
Ready to unleash the justice I command.

The conch shells blare, the earth trembles below,
Brothers and friends prepare for the fatal blow.
But my heart falters, bound by ties of kin,
Facing those I once cherished, now steeped in sin.

Across the field, Duryodhana stands tall,
His greed, his pride, the reason for this call.
And there, my grandsire, Bhishma, noble and true,
How do I raise my weapon against him, too?

Yet Krishna speaks, His words steady and wise,
"This is your duty, Arjun—open your eyes.
You fight for dharma, for righteousness and peace,
In this war of blood, only truth will release."

With tears unshed, I grip the bow tight,
For I must fight this battle, this endless night.
The arrows soar, the first clash rings,
And thus begins the war of kings.

My heart weighs heavy, but my resolve is clear,
I fight for dharma, casting aside my fear.
Day one, a storm, a clash of wills and pride—
The war begins, and destiny cannot hide.

The chariots charge, dust rises high,
Swords and spears flash beneath the crimson sky.
I strike with Gandiva, swift and true,
But each fallen foe brings sorrow anew.

I see faces I’ve known, friends now foes,
Their eyes are hardened, their hearts enclosed.
Each swing of my sword, each arrow I release,
Feels like a wound that offers no peace.

Bhishma, my grandsire, leads with grace,
A warrior unmatched, in every place.
Yet how can I harm the one I revere?
His love once shielded me, now drowned in fear.

Drona’s gaze meets mine across the field,
My teacher, my guide, his wisdom my shield.
How cruel is fate, that I face him today,
A disciple now forced to lead him astray.

But in the chaos, Krishna's voice is my light,
“Do not waver, Arjun, in this righteous fight.
The soul is eternal, untouched by war—
They are not truly gone, just passed through the door.”

With each word, my heart grows firm,
For dharma calls, and I must affirm.
The war will rage, lives will fall,
Yet I must stand, I must heed this call.

So I shoot my arrows, let them fly wide,
For the cause of justice, I cast aside pride.
Day one is long, the battle fierce,
But the heart of a warrior can never pierce.

As the sun sets low and the field runs red,
The cost of this war weighs heavy with the dead.
But Krishna’s words, like an eternal flame,
Remind me of the purpose, the end to this game.

And though my soul aches, though tears may burn,
There is no turning back, no chance to return.
Tomorrow will come, another fateful day—
For now, I rest, with Gandiva still in sway.