The Cherokee War

 The Cherokee War.

We got ready for the great battle, 

With our every step we made the chariots rattle. 

As soon as we heard the bugle, 

We barged into the jungle. 

We were fighting a clan of tribals, 

Who had just finished their ritual. 

Our general told us that ‘It was black magic. 

And that the outcome of it would be tragic.’

We broke down the bamboo wall, 

We intended to destroy it all. 

But my comrade didn’t think so, 

He hated to see the blood flow. 

He withdrew from the fight, 

While we ravaged the village with all our might. 

I thought of my wife and kid, 

Thinking of them a cruel thing I did. 

I accidentally slashed a boy, 

Who I thought was a decoy. 

Then I thought of my own son, 

How I used to treat him with a bun. 

Even he must’ve had a dad, 

Who taught him what is good and what is bad.

I threw away the spear, 

To protect someone’s dear. 

I sling him over my shoulders, 

His blood flowing like a river, we hid near the boulders. 

I tried to aid the wound,

The boy stood still without making a sound. 

He had large blackberry eyes,

His hair was so black I though it was some dye. 

Putting some medicine on his shoulder, 

I said, “I’m sorry. Like you, at my home too there is a toddler.” 

I leave him there and said to myself, 

He’ll get home by himself. 

We had finished the battle, 

Their chief’s wound was fatal. 

Before my land could humiliate him, 

The fire inside him and become dim. 

The chief had died, 

He was taken down in his home where he used to abide.

Then the army rejoiced, 

It had become successful - the plan we devised. 

I took one last look at that place, 

I couldn’t explain its condition in a phrase. 

After we had destroyed the lives of thousands, 

We returned to the docklands. 

I just couldn’t sleep that night, 

In my dreams I still saw that sight. 

Suddenly, the water gushed in, 

It was the punishment for our sin. 

It took all of our lives, 

Except for me, my fate was to survive. 

I lived to tell the tale, 

Of how others got killed by a gale. 

I saw that village and that boy every night. 

In all of my dreams I saw that sight. 

I always thought, “Why didn’t God punish me?”

I got the answer: If I had died that day it would’ve been a mercy. 

I had done such a deed, that even God wouldn’t forgive. 

I still regret it today, even on the bed I last lay.