Arms Against The Own

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War or Peace
Was never a choice
For battle was destined!

He moved in the spirit of a combatant
Ignorant of the attachment pull.
But anxiousness had to attack
For the rivals were not a novelty
But his kith and kin.

What fruits would the war bore?
For anyone’s win
Would make him the ultimate loser;
His victory would stain him with blood
While his defeat would fail righteousness
So the revolt was anyway futile!

The son of a heroic mother felt lost that day
When he had no other possibility
Than to fight against his own blood.

He never wished for those possessions
In return of the countless deaths.
He felt destructively aimless,
His faint heart made him weak
Imagining how cruel fate had turn
Oh!
He never wanted the war to commence!

It was not only a fight for the land or the lady
But also against the internal turmoil
That blurred the vision
And displayed no justice
In raising the arms or the weapons.

Cowardliness dithered him
From taking those warrior steps
Until Lord enlightened him
With his real Karma
To establish Dharma!

Valor and vigor had to be invited
To uproot the evil
And end the suffering.

With no ambiguity
War had to begun
And escapism was a mark of the fear
That had to fade,
For the deception had to be vanquished
With the evolution of the truth.

Well he had to learn
The transitory nature of the body
That has to be perished,
While the soul was to stay immortal
Just changing forms and attires.

He had to be strong
To show the world
That greed has to lose
And virtues have to win!

Sinner has to die
Hero ought to live eternally,
Thus war had to begun
For a new birth and a life
Where only rightful nobility would prevail.

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