Warrior,
You can rest sometimes, you know.
And think once for a change,
If the fight was yours,
Or was the one given to you.
I honor your heart, if not the fight,
For the noble cause you thought the fight was for.
From the left and the right,
You thought your fears were real worth fighting for.
Buddha would have said, I think,
The left is what makes the right,
The right is what makes the left,
By grinding the humanity,
The blood for the festival of colors,
You are too pure for this world,
Or for my words to fathom your heart,
In your world, you are fighting for me,
And all who have no legs of their own.
I honor your altruism,
As I have sometimes seen the wounds,
That you hide under the rags,
And the balms denied for you,
Have seen tears denied to roll out,
And have felt lonely nights given to you.
You fight for your convictions,
In the marketplace of faith,
Where faith sells like condoms,
For the pimps profiting as presidents,
Ministers of the church or the cabinets,
Making gospels to sell your blood,
You’ve not fought for nothing though,
Hundreds will earn millions,
Some will make billions,
For the fight you chose,
For the free will that you thought you had,
Was designed and given to you.