By Atharva Rewatkar
I speak of the days when quills did scribe
the words and rhymes that specified a poetic tribe,
where words were swords that cut in blood-cold
and vanquished Realms and the Galaxies untold
astonishing me about this quill's might;
is it mightier than a sword in its own right?
As words drenched in the ink's delight,
it adorned the verses to absorb every fight
of inked battles in the lines of every page,
with poets with their quills fight and engage
to defend their honour with poetry, bold and fair
and conquer the battles in that hostile air.
Using Similes and Metaphors to blend,
and carve a line that no poet could defend.
Citing the Wordy-Infinity of the lexicon,
poets begin controlling the kingdom they won
with the poems adorning their tribal art,
To rule over the world, creating a realm apart.
With inkwells dried, pages inked and turned,
those ambitious words bravely fought to earn
a place in the hallowed halls of every word,
to embellish bravery, to get the tribes stirred.
Can discourse and persuasion on a stage,
influence the kings and states to engage?
With their oratory, grandiose and wise,
they coax the fervours of the poets to rise.
In the Parliament built on the Poetic might,
Syllables and words sway the minds of bright
and so I ask, O muse, can a sermon profound,
Make the mightiest kneel on the ground?
And the quill writes valour with flourish grand,
adorning the words that the poets will command
as the ink and parchment tell the tale,
the language through the ages begins to sail.
In the annals of the history's scroll,
The world's conquest by words is the final goal.
By Atharva Rewatkar
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