The Sepoy (The Indian Mutiny) Poem by Ashley Akari

All the hot red glow,
The raging booms are gone,
But the grief hangs still
Like a tattered English flag

Limp in the windless air
And the overcoming silence.

The pariah dogs mourn
For men who do not
Yet know that the
Sword is double-edged,

Yelling like banshees
That have well and truly come.

A child sits in the immense ruins
Of his nursery and his innocence—
Slowly pushed out,
A gunshot at a time.

His mother lies dead
In the bottomless well—
That day he turned a thousand
Years old,
But he’s not too elderly
For tears.

The sepoy sits in the hungry ruins
Of Freedom and Vengeance’s illusion,
Slowly crumbled when
The battle yell died.

He flung his soul
Down a bottomless well—
With a wound mortal and immortal,
That cannot be cured with tears.