The Death Of The Queen: Rani Laxmi of Jhansi
And her bloodied horse,
embattled, loyal to her till the last,
carried her slumped body on his back,
her grip on the saddle still firm,
though her hands had slackened the hold
on the reins that needed no signal to guide.
The horse and the master were one.
That was no submission on the part of the horse,
It was a bond of love and strength.
He knew her mind like an open land
and carried her to her last resort.
Away from the battle, away from hounding killers,
the horse trudged now silently
to the abandoned cottage standing in the forest
and gave a gentle knock.
The hermit came, saw and knew who she was.
There in that solitude, she breathed her last.
The hermit had no logs to build a pyre.
There was no time to lose,
the foe was on her trail.
The hermit set the cottage on fire.
He and the horse stood still
as the fire accomplished the task
And her bloodied horse,
embattled, loyal to her till the last,
carried her slumped body on his back,
her grip on the saddle still firm,
though her hands had slackened the hold
on the reins that needed no signal to guide.
The horse and the master were one.
That was no submission on the part of the horse,
It was a bond of love and strength.
He knew her mind like an open land
and carried her to her last resort.
Away from the battle, away from hounding killers,
the horse trudged now silently
to the abandoned cottage standing in the forest
and gave a gentle knock.
The hermit came, saw and knew who she was.
There in that solitude, she breathed her last.
The hermit had no logs to build a pyre.
There was no time to lose,
the foe was on her trail.
The hermit set the cottage on fire.
He and the horse stood still
as the fire accomplished the task
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