The Martyr


The sun hid behind a dark quilt,
As the sky roared the announcement.
Shining arrows set out to rejoice,
A martyr was born with new glint.

The young daredevil dove into the mist,
With an army of millions following him
To fulfill a vow made to nature at birth,
None could now stop the altruist.

Their glory was proudly sung.
The martyr and his army needed no weaponry.
He was now repeating history
And the good his ancestors had done.

Some in his army evaporated and lost their vision,
Some moistened their graves,
Some dropped into rivers and lakes,
People ungratefully rejoiced for the water levels had risen.

Minutes away from his tragic end, he voiced his last command.
His fellow martyrs were sacrificed to feed hungry mouths.
The martyr landed on a tender leaf,
He hung on at a photographer’s demand.

He fell to the mud’s embrace at the break of dawn.
The sun rose out of the mournful grey.
There was a seven coloured epitaph on his grave.
The sky roared again. A new martyr was born.

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