These fights that we fight
The wrongs that we right
They don’t measure our might
Nor the depth of our plight
The blows that don’t bruise
May not bleed, but they ooze
Bones though, they may not break
Sure as hell, do not soothe
But you behold, for this cause
Tears down our face mean no pause
The wearying you see in our eyes
As our nightingales sing and rise
They’re not a means to a goal
But water to a thirsty soul
For warriors live for that sight
Sweat and blood in shimmering light
Alas, hour is up. The lies are sold
The game was fixed. The story is old
By morning after, a distant dream
Typos and corrections, that’s all they seem
Yet out of the ashes, I can see the light
Onwards and upwards, onto the next fight
Niayesh Afshordi 