Themistocles Poem by Somendra Gaur

Beneath his feet lies a rose,
Crushing it under;
He moves.

He had his alter egos inside,
Encephalon (Brain) kept sending the deserving ones to fight for him.
But now it's Quiver is Emptied.
Wars took all the soldiers away;
Martyred.

His legs quiver and hands are numb,
With Black Rose in his hand he Crawls.
The Storm brings few droplets of water on the Cactus behind him,
Clouds aren't raining,
They Shan't.
In his torn leather shoes & cuts on his knuckles,
He Crawls.

He Crawls into a Shroudless Grave,
Woodless Pyre or,
Has he Invited Eagles for Dinner?
Who knows?
Who cares?
He himself doesn't.
He won't join 27 Club,
He's has outlived suffering of hundred lives.
But now,
He chooses to:
Rest his Sword
Unkiss his Bow
Reject his Spear
&
Give away wood from his Axe.
He Fought his Last War now this Soldier Deserves rest;
Unceasing & Eternal.