On Dying in Battle

He walks into the battlefield,
Head held high,
Wielding his weapon, striking fear,
His fiery eyes unflinching,
A thousand questions pose themselves,
Will he see another sunrise? Or be slain?
Just as a thousand enemies glare at him,
Both are greeted by a fearless glance,
As he walks forth,
The sound of his tread
Echoing through the noise.
It is indeed great, that he has put,
A cause before his own life.

Moments later, he fights on,
Somewhere in a cluster of pairs of battling men,
Drenched in blood,
Some others' some his own,
His weapon strikes precise blows,
Maiming, killing and mangling his foes,
Such action continues tirelessly,
Until he is struck.
Struck not by a weapon, but a valiant rival,
It is indeed a blow,
But is meant as a bow,
A trophy for a glorious fight,
The foe knows it too,

And it is not he who falls,
It is fear, defeat and death that die.

Written on 3.6.2016 at 1:27am, at B001, H13, IIT Bombay