A warrior who have fought only one war

 A Warrior Who have fought only one War...

Wreckon peices of peace in the pallet of pedestal of a  battle ground,

The warrior stand silently with no sound.

Bethequing and hallucinating the scenes of war in his mind,

Where love thrives and feuds simply dies.

Shrouded in the grave yard of his lost battle story ,

Where everyone else pleases his trucant

 livelihood.

He himself resonates to the lord of livelihood , that love is nowhere to be found.

In the eastern woods of summer fights,

In the battleships of winter nights.

In the culprit heads of disputed finds,

The warrior is the only one, who always stay determined to remain kind.

In the broken House which is ever built in choas,

In the sailing structure of half admitted truths,

In the pages of  unread stories about wars, 

The warrior is the only one, who talk to his lucky stars.

 Forest covered with blue green sky,

Clothes coloured with red imprints of honour in white ties,

No glimmer found in secluded body and empty eyes,

Is a warrior  trained to always fight?

Broken bones and sombre hearts of everlived times,

Vacant voices and unheard screams where the dead bodies again dies.

Gentle gestures and weakened will overpowers his hands and mind,

But something that remain still the same is that a worthy warrior always finds a way to survive, even when he dies.

 Painted in the diaries of old golden times,

A warrior knows how to make a war even the passion of all his bad goodbyes ,

In the apocalypse of anatomy of an anthropological enzyme,

The science of strife is left undone with no guilty finds.

So who would live?

And

Who should die...? 

Should be left on the unseen and farfelt power of all Mighty times,

As this is the only thing, that would make a warrior peacefully die.

Leeza