'Warrior Behind A Robe' Poem by Angelica Vargas

I mask something, a hidden truth of my vest.
I don't know whether its bad or good;
Strength or weakness to hold,
I just can't say which falls best.

For my past is colored not of bright white of peace,
Rather of blood and red.
Not of golden gems with sparkling gleams,
Rather of rusts which bleed.

My life is not decorated of fine garments and streaks of light,
Rather of never ending battles with agony and might.
Yes, I'm a warrior. A fighter hidden behind a woman's breast.
A killer covered by a soft face of a maiden's laces.

I slay many a men, heard thousand cries in pain
I saw millions of wounded legs and never show a pinch of regret.
Yes, I commit crimes. Saved and claimed lives with my own hands.
Yet I'm a woman who weakens most of the time,
Especially when a child comes to harm.

However, the past time will never come back,
The lost lives will never come alive once more in my track.
I remain a signage of my past a legend which I mask.
And covered with lady's smiles and tasks.