The Dance of Valour

The bullets scream with the demonic sounds

and loud gunshots tremble the mountains.

The death Surrounds the green valley and

Blood pours out from the bodies that died.

The fighters are the lions, the deads are Devine,

The cowards have no place —to hide and to die.

A son left his home to serve his mom

—his mother believes he will come home

That too in his boots, standing on his foot.

She taught him to rise, to fight for the right,

“Never let fear near you, fight for your pride.”

When the bravest of all braves fell,

He stands with the gun he holds.

Whooshing bullets sing the song

He holds the trigger and breathes

—the dance of his valour begins.

He shoots to kill the wolves

who eyed his mother country

he spares not one.

The blood is left and the bodies in blood.

He laughs as he runs to hoist the flag

And he dies…

He sleeps on his mother’s soil

Covered in blood and holes.

A son who will never go his home

To meet his mother but the mother of all,

The Indian motherland will hold him to the heart.

The crowd will gather and the flowers will rain.

Comments

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published.