Often said,
The wilderness experience is for building the weak
To make them warriors for wars,
To attain the throne above.
We had a rough way all through this dreadful journey
Made our walks through thorns and barriers
Tied to the stigma of pain and shame
We live in the zone of the depressed
At sunset, we find it so hard, to imagine what morning brings
Sun dawn comes, so dim with little or no possibilities
Dead woods became our sofa,
And our little swords were made blunt by our daunted minds.
We remain, militants, always alert to the grip of our enemies
War remains the order of the day
Battles are real, and killings, often
Many fell in love, and some strive hard to breathe.
Walking through the enemies zone keeps our eyes awakened
Our shadows standby as the scorch of the sun keeps draining our sustaining water
Stinking mire became our hideouts
Our souls keep dying as the days goes by
Better days are best imagined
Realities are miles away
On a joyful sunrise
Our eyes opened.
All to see realities of glory
Shinning crowns, all at the labour of despair
Much gone, much dead
We fell on each other’s shoulders
We shed unending tears, smiling through it;
As we felt the deep pain experienced all along the desert journey
Cuts of the swords, wounds of the spears
As we behold the beauty of our destination
We forgot our grief,
We mourn no more,
And, at the feet of the master
Our swords laid.
