Modjadji Writer

The Unarmored Warrior

If my offspring asks, how was daddy,
Tell them I was a soldier who marched into storms barefoot,
A man who wore courage like borrowed skin,
Who went to combat without armor
Yet stood like a mountain arguing with thunder.

Tell them I fought a very good fight,
Even when fear whispered like a traitor in my ear,
Even when the night stretched long like a road with no end.
I wrestled shadows that had no faces,
And still, I rose again and again like the stubborn sun.

Say I was fire dressed as flesh,
Burning quietly while the world felt warm,
A river that carved its path through stone,
Soft in sound, yet fierce in purpose.

Let them know the enemy was not always a man,
Sometimes it was hunger, wearing a crown of silence,
Sometimes it was doubt, sharp as a serpent’s tongue,
Sometimes it was life itself
Laughing ironically while handing me battles instead of bread.

Tell them I wore pain like a hidden medal,
Smiling as if joy lived in my pocket,
While my heart bled poetry no one could hear.
I was both the wound and the healer,
Both the storm and the shelter beneath it.

If they ask if I ever fell,
Tell them I did like rain does
But I never forgot how to rise into the sky again.
And if they wonder what victory looked like,
Tell them it was not crowns or applause,
But surviving each day when surrender sounded sweeter.

Tell them their father was a paradox
A fragile blade that never broke,
A silent war cry wrapped in human skin,
A man who had nothing…
Yet gave everything.

Melancholy...