The glow be fallen on a mystic night;

the allure of my katana to rise

that slices through deepest wounds

of guts and prejudice.

A symbol far never forgotten

to its prior privilege,

a culture,

and a pride.

The sharpened spirit of vengeance

houses a steel's heart;

It reflects the wielder to its purpose,

It reflects my soul for ages,

casting my dignity,

moulding it to a warrior.

It sworn an oath

to defend the weak

and to be a shield from brutes.

I pledge to weild its blade

from a poetry of wastelands,

eye its glory,

and remember my roots.

Poem credit : @Arunabh Hazarika