Et tu, Brute!

have fought a million men,
battled down the tempests and storms,
conquered lands beyond far etches of oceans;
with the armour and a heart of iron.
but now, I fall defeated...
butchered down by my dearest friend...
but why from the back?
I would have taken it on my chest with a little tear!
Of all the stabs its yours that hurt the most.
I wished to die in your hands...
never friend, by your hands!
Din't I give you the purest of my heart?
Din't I give you the best of my care??
Din't I trust you with the pristine of faith???
I don't care the other traitors.
But, why you....why me....
"Et tu, Brute!"


PS: I know not whether Julius Caesar felt all this before he breathed out his last words. But i feel that pain, agony and anger of being brutally back-stabbed by the one whom i thought was my dearest friend...