Naveed Akram (15 December 1973 / London, England)

Forced are the troops of battle,
Into the field of war, of war.
Feed on their movement, general,
As a leader of war, of this battle.

I, a troop, have forced my mind
Into the war of my dreams,
Into the fire of my wishes;
They are like dread and scare.

To belittle a young man, who is a soldier,
A fighter, born of the skill to fight and parry,
Is never agreeable in the eyes of the warlord,
The hard man or woman, the harsh chief.

Punishment awaits those who excel at war crime
And force is a force that fades from power
To weak pull, a reaction to the enemy,
A full explosion for them who oppose.

Swords and crossbows are the implements
That win the war more than anything else.
Your horse is put to death, the standard-bearers
Are put down for their bravery, gallantry.

Forced are the troops of battle,
Into the field of war, of war.
Feed on their movement, general,
As a leader of war, of this battle.