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Eighty Four
Eighty Four
- Siddhant Shekhar
I wipe off the tears from my bloodshot eyes,
As I peer at the images stuck on my bedside wall.
Of the religion of my people being raped and humiliated,
All in the name of law, order, national security and all.
I put on my turban and strap on my uniform,
Careful not to stain the khaki with my tears.
I am in the manliest of all manly professions,
I can not be allowed to cry out my fears.
Yet tears of blood and humiliation were cried,
When the Lady of Iron went ahead and charged.
She passed over a million other ways that she could have taken.
And into our shrine with her army she barged.
The fight was bloody, the aftermath bloodier,
With Gold and bricks and mortar falling to the ground.
She offered to build what she broken down herself,
But in the gesture, no consolation was found.
I walked out picking up the heavy piece of metal,
Cold and still as the witch's heart would be.
Duty comes first, they always say,
But what higher duty can be?
Than the duty to your soul, you conscience,
Than the actions you owe to your people everywhere.
And so the Protector became the Hunter,
Impatient to look into her dying, betrayed cold stare.
I picked up my bike, and kicked it to life,
I set out on my way, my nerves made of steel.
Justice shall be served today, I reminded myself,
It was too late for cowardice for me.
I reached her castle, to witness a siege,
I had not quite expected to see.
Liberty! Freedom! Tyrrany is Dead!
The old witch was no more to be.
I stood stunned at the gates, my feet of stone,
My prize snatched away from me, now laid to rest.
My people, on their own, had done the dreadful deed,
Deciding that I was too slow for their taste.