Is the fighter dead?

There, by the red woods,

under a Silicon canopy

that exudes, attracts power,
I saw its steely desire
to climb up...

Creeping along the

bare, brick canvas:

the world as we built it.

Blinded by the lustful flashes

of the one with might,

reaching for the source

of his power,

the upper balconies

of the city

where Lodi reigned,

Modi reigns.

And, in the dark

I see,

lies justified by hope,

I behold a mission,

a questioning vision,

I find the return gift...

A fight still remains in me, but is the fighter dead?

Cancer!

The beefy armoured

love from the infantry,

took on the sharp edged

mystery from a Samurai’s soul.

They all won, but chivalry died,

cursing with his last breath:

Let there be light,

mushrooms, and cancer.

Now we mortgage life,

for our lust,

for mobility,

for insecurity;

and try to burn away

the corrupt genes,

a war we all lose. 

Where the hell is chivalry?