Battle Of Us. Poem by Fathima Hanna

I see us in,
Two warriors in a battlefield
Fighting together and then eachother.
Tell me,
that wasn't you,
but just your swords raising to see me in blood.
Tell me,
That it wasn't your heart, but your hands raising them.
Tell me, it wasn't your soul, but your mind in such intension.
Tell me,
Even I do know it's a lie.
Tell me,
How much it takes a warrior to refuse to meet your sword?
And I did though,
As I knew it'll end up in flames,
Where I'll burn alone.
That I'll save you
even from the death of yours.
Even if you'll hold another hands on your deathbed,
even more tighter than you held mine.
Tell me,
What'd you name this battle of us?
In which you face the sun,
With my cold blood over your hands,
And still walk with pride.
Nobody knew that,
I asked you,
How much it takes a warrior to refuse to meet your sword?
And I did though.
I asked again.
But now to the world.
Tell me,
Who won?