WOODEN

DAY-30

Everyday she trained,
Day and night,
Her trainer, showed no mercy,
Lap after lap she ran. ‘Am I ready yet’, She panted, fuming,
She’d run kilo meters at a stretch,
Run and exercised. ‘Patience is a virtue’, He said, smiling,
She walked away huffing,
Unsatisfied as can get.
Days passed, one bright day,
He handed her a wooden sword,
The girl who only wanted to fight,
Shone as bright as the sun.
Months passed by,
Her upside-down frown turning back up,
Can I use a sword now,
She asked, gazing at the metal.
Her momentary distraction enough,
He bent and attacker her legs,
She fell ungracefully,
Appalled she missed his move. ‘You’re not ready’, He said, looking down at her,
Sprawled down on the floor, ‘Get up and learn.’ A deep grunt as she stormed off,
He smirked as she limped,
He continued attacking,
The sack of grains.
Months turned to two years,
She stood tall and muscled,
The frown still etched,
As she parried his blows.
He struck down on her,
She blocked his move,
Feigning to move left,
She struck the blade out of his hand.
She clapped a hand on her mouth,
Shock reverberating through them,
A slow smile spread on his face,
He took the wooden sword from her. ‘It is time’, he told her, ‘Come let us go,
Your first blade,
What will you name him?’