Alongside the bonded slaves I run,
On the call of the warhorn,
For I was born a wallbreaker
Destined to die forever forlorn.
For this one task, this one day,
I was trained all my short, repetitive life,
All I had was an explosive bomb,
Not sword nor mace, not any spear,
Not even a knife.
Arrows of archers and canon shots,
Shot down the unskilled clumsy slaves,
As if though they've won the war,
Enemy troops childishly behaves.
I run as fast as I can,
Racing against winds and an inevitable death
But a canonshot to my heart
Was enough to steal my breath.
An arrow pierces the top of my eye,
And I'm rid of my vision.
Well, I have to die, by becoming a dartboard or a suicidal explosion.
I dodge and crouch my way
As the bomb did explode,
At the foot of the enemy wall,
As time itself slowed.
The enemy troops were trembling,
Tumbling down came the walls,
And our army was ready
to capture the king's halls.
Upon their horses and bulls,
Warriors invaded the enemy base,
But my sacrifice was soon forgotten,
On they stepped,
Stepping on my face.
My corpse lied low, with bric-a-bracs
Of the wall of the past,
The foes were defeated in quick fashion
And our flag was raised at last.
The flag danced with harsh gales,
Symbolising our strength and power.
Our 'heroes' did roar in delight
And enemies did cower.
In this drama of life,
On this stage of battlefield,
The victors are the lead actors,
While all the ones who lost their lives,
Forgotten by history,
Are just secondary characters.
~Ajay
March 2017
