Dum Spīrō, Spērō Poem by Arani DattaGupta

The cold night burned red,
as sparks of fire flew before my eyes.
Ruins drowned in bloodshed—
what was once, now unrecognisable.

Bestowed with honour,
I never fretted over the misery of frailty.
Virtuous and heroic in my acts,
I believed I was strong — the strongest.

But my vulnerability reached me,
the daunting price of morality.
An arrow pierced my heel and I remained standing,
adapting to my Pyrrhic victory.
-03/01/2026