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,
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