The Wounded Eagle

Blood dripping from our bodies, we all looked up and saw a god-send : The Wounded Eagle flying.

He reminded us of strength and honour, he reminded us of the fire inside, he reminded us why we weren't dying.

The mighty bird moved across the Sun, fearless and not afraid, as blood from it's wing began to pour,

And just when we lost hope, and just when we lost power, and just when we thought he was dying, he flew some more.

The look in his eye struck bravery in all our hearts, as we stood up and picked up our sword to fight the battle,

We decided to do away with the enemy ourselves, we decided to win this war even though our men lay like dead cattle.

Our wound dried up, still we didn't fall, our bodies were crying out, still we didnt fall, we couldn't move, still we didn't fall,

We had to win, failure was no option, we had to win, death was not winning today, no matter how loud and fearful it's call.

We had seen enough losses, now it was our win, we were going to win and call it a day, we had seen enough trying,

And with all hope inside, we looked up with a smile, and with all pride we saw : The Wounded Eagle still flying.

(A poem dedicated to the Eagle, my brother : Srikar Anna)