WHEN I TOOK THE SWORD IN MY HAND

When I did take the sword in my own hand,
The whole of history came crashing down on me--
Many a victory glorious and grand-- and
In all it counted if the victor I'd be.

The sword of the Sultan whereon the legend lies:
Behead would he at each wave numberless foes;

This sword of him with which he'd terrorize
And sail his flag of fame down the gory flows.

The razor edge the sword so grand it had,
Across its length endless that ran;
The girth, the mass, the weight all heavy n hard,
Same like the absolute clout of the Sultan.

Bright did shine the sword of custody and care;
Of violence, oppression, and revenge,
The tales of triumphs historically rare;
That fill'd my being with force all huge n strange.

And proudly I did lift the champion sword,
With grit and nerve; in the Terminator's rage,
I aim'd to slice the earth (its corrupt horde)
For robbing the poor of their own privilege.

But brandish could I not the sword for long;
The weapon, lazy down the scruples of time,
Attrition'd me to surrender, and 'mong

The splendors leave did I the relic of crime...

-- N P SAMAL

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