Orion, winning a war is a punishment greater than death.
The tears in your sisters eyes have dried up crying Revolution, screaming so loud to be heard by the 13th century.
But not loud enough to let us hear her moans, because she’s sealed her bruises with remains of the black death, almost bronze in colour.
The Mongols had these spirit banners tied to the shaft of their spears, just below the blades. These ‘suldes’ would channel the power of nature to the warriors and take them towards their dreams.
But did not teach the warrior how to win. Because nature does not teach punishment.
I’ve drowned around all these spirit banners of the undead warriors around me, Orion.
Their dreams spoke of victory, their voices like rotten Roman monuments in my ears. All they asked of me was to not start a war again.
To not let my son know the taste of victory.
This photo is so pretty. Ufff I like it.
The poetry is a bit short but I liked writing it. What do you think? I was reading the Mongolian history and history of Genghis Khan which inspired me to write this.
Thanks(×infinity) for reading
Also, this is birthday weeekkk🎉😩