Threads

The vale was once floated the mountain mist,

The air held the pinewoods' aroma in its fist.

Now it stood in blood and dust

And all that had been let last

By the rough, wild invaders of the east.

His father, by now is dead, he fears,

Watching him lie still through the blur of tears;

Brave as a lion, tough as stone -

He gave his life to protect his own

For he was the chief - the one who it all bears.

The twelfth winter of his life has come

With warm merriment throughout the chiefdom.

The chief's son was he-

A warrior yet to be;

His natal day rang in loud flute and drum.

Then, swift like those winds of Tibet, 

The hungry enemies came in and went

And trampled his land

Oh, their faithful land!

Oblivion left as its only fate.

Out from his hideout - the fronds of fern,

He came forth to see his village burn-

Most were dead,

The others have fled

And life to his valley will never return.

He was too young, but this he knew;

Strange it was, but still was true.

Only the gods in the trees,

Rivers, rocks and breeze,

Will protect the soil his folk failed to.

As white and pure as the holy dove,

There was a pride engraved in love,

The great ones who had reigned before,

Were in wakeful watch evermore

Across centuries, from the distant stars above.

Perhaps 'twas the call of those stars

That beckoned to him to break all bars

Between him and his birth-land

Where, written in Time's own hand

Was the song of his ancestors.

A promise that their fathers had made

In the glowing honor of fire and blade,

And- against all the odds

Had kept faith with all their gods

That the gold in their name will never fade.

It was time for him to keep the faith, too,

For that, he knew what he now had to do.

It was the love of threads,

Millenia-long threads

Of his oldest roots that whispered through.

Keen loyalty do these threads with tensile strength weave;

A loyal son of the mountains- he will never leave.

Climbing up fast to the High Place

Where his forefathers slept in earthen beds,

Lay down thinking 'This's the best spot, I believe'.

Hunger failed to stir him slightly;

Thirst tried to move him with all its might.

But the boy lay still

Till he began to feel

Eternal sleep and his soul in flight.