In the Hands of Gods
The first human to wield me was a smith; steady and measured.
He made me feel… delicate; light as a feather.
The second was a Knight; reeking of hubris. His life was as muddled as one of his stupors.
The third was his killer; tempered in rage. He took me from blood. Then too, he bathed.
Conquest was nigh.
The game was afoot.
He sold me for ale, without even a look.
The fourth was a soldier, with green in his eyes. He took me back home and gave me a shine.
He made his estate, and his son came thereafter.
From sunrise to sunset, I sat with my captor.
Through brothers, and nephews, the daughters I fell to.
The bastards, the husbands, the boors, and the duels.
For pride and for greed of you sinners and fools.
For the blood of your kings
And in endings too cruel.
The thousandth to hold me was bent out of shape.
Strapped to her back, in breath and her gait.
She told me a story.
She gave me a name,
one she would never utter again.
The next was her husband, vicious and flagrant.
He took me by force, but she was his favor.
I sang in the dances, she wept in the day
She longed for the past, but I cut it away
She lost every word to her dearly beloved
It stopped in her throat, with all that she coveted
Left to her daughter, in her dismay
Dulling my face as her hair dropped away
I sat by her side, a remnant of youth
Of people she feared,
And things they misused.
She’d keep me secure, and leave me as earth.
With freedom, I’m sheathed, and free to observe.
From nature, to nurture
From loser, to victor.
She kept me encased, left with a picture,
and wrote out a message to tell my adventure.
“For kingdoms forgotten, and crowns lay long melted,
For humble,
and happy,
and sorrow,
and selfish.
The end never coming,
and passed on their deathbed
she carries a lesson from books never written:
Metal ruled men; for men had no mettle.
And men got more metal, instead.”
-Rohan Bhatt
4/29/19
