I do not ask you to
talk to me,
call me,
follow me,
give me your time or money.
I just want you to remember me by
when I die.
I do not want to be
loved like a child,
or a man of means,
a creator or a destroyer,
or a world changer.
I just want to live by
as a memory.
Oct 5, 2012
Oct 5, 2012 at 8:35 AM UTC
A screen was there
as high as me
and as broad.
And there he was
in front of the screen,
lying in his rags.
His shirt must have been green,
when it used to cover his frailty.
His trousers were torn,
and hair wiry.
If it hadn’t been his placid sleep
and a black scar on his cheek,
he would be lost in generality.
But he was different.
He was a warrior,
who had just won over a city.
His armour impaired, body battered
to the extreme.
He must have been a kinsman
of the king.
As he wore the royal green
and carried a slender physique.
The dark stains on his lower
explained how he slaughtered the militaries
with his cavalry.
And yes, the scar.
The black scar outlined the final battles
with the mighty,
and long journey from the murky and dusty
land of atrocities.
Anyone with even a
slight fondness to fantasy
could ponder
into the warrior’s dreamless dreams
on the screen, that was
as high as me
and as broad.
Sep 24, 2012
Sep 24, 2012 at 2:40 AM UTC