Trilogy - Part 3
CROWNED IN FIRE: ASHES AND OATH
I have seen two fires burn—
One to blind, one to discern.
One wore steel upon his chest,
The other, silence and unrest.
One man carved his truth from pain,
Raised a fist and fed the flame.
He swore revenge, he spoke of pride—
Millions perished in his stride.
But far beyond his smoke and flags,
Where earth wore scars, and hearts wore rags,
Another rose—not with disdain,
But thunder pulsing through his vein.
Where one drew lines to cast out kin,
The other fought to cleanse their sin.
Not with race, but with resolve,
He watched a nation's chains dissolve.
And through the ink, the orders, death—
One empire choked the people’s breath.
The Mughals ruled with jeweled knives,
A thousand thrones on stolen lives.
But he—he roared from mountain womb,
And dragged their glory to its tomb.
Not for conquest. Not for land.
But just to let his people stand.
One crowned himself with fire and bone.
The other lit the lamp alone.
One claimed the world. One earned a hill.
One murdered faith. One bends God’s will.
The lion rose. The tyrant fell.
Both bathed in war, but only one swelled
With wounds the earth could still forgive—
The one who fought so all could live.
Empires fall. Dharma doesn’t.
Copyright © Saankhya Tare | Year Posted 2025
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