The Saga

THE SAGA

Listen o weary traveller,
listen o joyous revellar,
I tell thee a story,
a story of a man,
whom the world called insane.

Scores of centuries ago he was born,
for him the fate had always been a thorn.
He had a burn on his hand
and people ran away from him, as if he were a fiend.

For he was a man,
whom the world called insane.

He grew and grew in age,
But had no knowledge how to even turn a page
His mother profusely beat her head,
"Oh, why didnt he die the day he was born?", she said.

For he was a man,
whom the world called insane.

One day, he saw a man wielding a sword,
so well that he cut through the thickest cord.
Awed he was, he asked the man to teach,
But greeted he was with a loud screech!

For he was a man,
whom the world called insane.

Determined, he decided to learn,
for days and days, his hands bore the sword's burn.
All looked at him and smirked
his antics just had them irked.

For he was a man,
whom the world called insane.

Days flowed to months, moths to years,
He soon conquered all his fears.
His sword breathed fire with steel,
He fought and fought till his skin begin to peel.

For he was a man,
whom the world called insane.

One day, not so fine, the peace of the town was shattered,
a wild mob had the towns walls battered
People ran scurried away, cowards they were,
This man stood firm, havinf known no fear.

For he was man,
whom the world called insane.

"Come on you fiends!" he roared
His power quivered event he wild horde.
He stood alone, and fought, till blood dripped from his hands,
he fought like a madman to protect his lands.

For he was a man,
whom the world called insane.

Ah! A sword cut through his back, an arrow pierced his eye
he continued to fight, drenched red.
Last, the horde was reduced to but one man,
The fighter snarled at him, like insane.

For he was a man,
whom the world called insane.

A battle, so fierce, that none had seen
blood and guts were seen, where humans had been
The horde was defeated, by one insane man,
Alas, he staggered to death then.

The people came out of their homes,
and celebrated in the street
They felt so proud of their strengths,
As if killing the horde was their own feat.

They erected a hero-rock for him,
whose wits they called to be dim.
They worshipped the man,
whom they called insane.

So, that was the end of that,
o weary traveller, o joyous reveller,
Thank you for hearing this tale.

-Shivam