Poems by Mansi

Martyr for Love

a poem by

Mansi

Down the valleys I ride,
Racing against the sands of time.
Through the green fields I stride,
Under the naked sky.
Much have I seen the sins of men,
When brothers kill each other for the gain of land.
My clothes are smothered with stains of blood
In my ears still echoes the vales of my friends
The wind slaps me several times reminding me of my cowardly choice,
But my heart bears witness,
I can’t tolerate being away for one more day from my lovely wife
The stars shine bright for those men who died,
For me dark clouds surround the way.
But my heart bears witness,
I cant stay away one more day from where my happiness lays
In the village of my birth, my family awaits my return
Near the mountain paths my childhood friends
Stand for the sight of my horse.
I turned my back on the land of the brave,
But my heart bears witness,
I have to see my mother before its time for her to go the grave.
Thus I ride night and day,
The sun shines bright and rain blocks my way
Yet I keep moving on like a wave.
On the horizon I can see,
Outlines of my village huts glowing with serenity
For here I was born, and here I wish to die
In the arms of the land which nurtured me.
I rode faster and faster, my heart beat with joy and my spirit felt free,
But near the mountain paths, no childhood friend did I see
Yet I rode on, blissfully ignoring all the wide eyes staring at me.
I jumped off the feeble horse,
And bend down on my knees to kiss the land of eternal victory.
And soon I saw familiar faces but none smiling at me.
Towards my house I ran, my only sense of security,
And on the porch I saw my pretty wife, but not with open arms as I had foreseen.
My mother stood beside her but no joy reflected on her face,
They reacted as they had seen my dead body being brought for display.
My heart bears witness, that I died a thousand deaths just standing there
Being an object of their detest.
For I realized they rather have me die on the field,
Than return for the sake of the love they had given me.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~