Treasure Island

Abhilaasha Singh


Our kind is cursed to realize not,
What once was had until its gone.
Our people would know not
what is needed until all is lost.

We bet it all on a game of cards,
Our living, breathing, pawns.
All to unconsciously please a Ram,
Our desire as sharp as its horns.

We play dice, with devotion,
Ever ready to gamble away
Honour for ambition.
Seeking to reign we often forget
The love that had once
Saved us from perdition.

We journey across great valleys, dark,
On damned expeditions.
Only to find ourselves half way through
With the image in the looking glass
Beyond recognition.

We will know not what sustains us
Until all the worlds food is fed.
We will know not how we are quenched
Until all red rivers are dried to dead.
We will persist through day and night,
Through fire and snow we will tread.
For supposed honour we will tear all down
Unceasing, till the last heavy breath.

Submitted: Friday, May 16, 2014

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Topic(s): war

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