Panthera Tigris


Tell me the name of that beast 

The one with the setting sun 

And the night’s shadows 

Scorched and streaked, upon 

The softness of its coat. 


That beast, that weaves at dusk 

With streamlined elegance, 

Undaunted and untamed. 

It charges towards the fray, 

A number of soldiers at the front lines. 


With his canines unleashed, 

As Achilles swings the first slash 

Of his blade. No stone unturned 

And no prey unseized, he is 

A hero, but not without a heel. 


His claws are that of a predator’s, 

An iron-grip on ending the drought. 

His eyes are that of a warrior’s, 

Remaining a champion, even if his luck runs out.

- raac