The Last Rebel Poem by Karan Kamath

I
The strife-torn kingdom’s heir to be,
Knowes’t his battered destiny,
For wrought in hardship, whipp’d with lace,
He hastens off with divine pace.

His stranded lady at the stake,
Was riv’d and tortured, yielding did spake;
Upheld her father’s high treason,
And massing men found lost reason.

Past flaming torch, ’gainst night’s descend,
A People’s silhouette, iridescent,
Doth march on, past fallen tribe,
A tainted fellow to proscribe.

No brazen lash of crafted steel,
No festered speech come they to see,
But gauging not their foe’s delight (or army’s might!) ,
They lost a million o’ernight.

II
“Ahoy, ahoy, where goes my boy? ”
He wondered loud, scarce feigning joy.
“Don’t blame me sire, he steals your steed”
A well-brib’d watchs’ honest plead.

“And where’s my daughter like to be? ”
He asked, affecting misery.
“Her sumptuous form is raven-feed”
A well-versed scribe his turn did heed.

There was no King to ruminate,
Dynasty’s work to consecrate,
And seeing the gleemen running late,
He calls for wine, his thirst to sate.

And sees he not the mourning sage,
And mulls he not on lost lineage,
Resplendent crown on balding pate,
He traipses across with practiced gait.



III
A master spirit blind with rage,
Much before came time and age,
For eternity condemned to hell,
Humankind’s last rebel.