The Conquest Poem by Varghese J Kuttikat

If everything throws you into ecstasy extreme,
Thrice blessed are you, really elect, indeed rare
If you can revel in your being, despite brimstone and fire
You are the crowned martyr whom angels extol with harp and lyre
If pain and peril can't daunt you, , you can sing and soar
Even when the skies are dense, cloudy and swelling sore
And as you soar up, the skies would turn markedly azure
Angels benevolent would salute you and declare you a pioneer