It is a moment we treasure,
of respect, beyond measure.
End of bloodshed and exile,
dawn of an era so fragile.
A country with a glorious past,
wrecked within by enemies at last.
Land where the five rivers flow,
innocent were killed and laid low.
Clear water thickened with blood,
not washed by the torrential flood.
Injuries vanish but memories remain,
of an era of slaughter and pain.
Blood like rivers made its course,
while killings went without remorse.
Once lush green now stained in red,
insanity and crime is what we bred.
Hope still lingers like a silver line,
efforts to vanquish is going on fine.
It will vanish - the evil shroud,
liberty will stand and make us proud.
Prasenjit©2022
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