Gage is thrown down the colosseum,
And their faith are scrawl with glum,
The innocuous minds of the gladiators,
Were portent of the danger that is about to come.
The swords have the glare of brightness,
The sandals making a distinct thrum,
The armors displaying marks of past jostles,
The eyes have no signs of glum.
We all are like the gladiators,
Fighting our battles every day,
Thrown to the life’s ring,
tasked to fly without wings.
Treasure your scars,
Stand up when you hit the wall,
You are bound to rise,
Don’t let your hopes fall.
Copyright © Shantanu Baruah