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
