SONS OF THE SOIL

With pride they brought the martyr
who traded his life for countrymen.
It did never to anyone occur,
how the widow would live in pain.

Flowers strewn all over, he laid still

the lifeless face still bore a smile.

His last moments - its hard to feel

his sacrifices made it worthwhile.

Both the mothers with thieir frozen looks

one of his son, the other of his own.

The sacrifices will be in their books,

while emotions on their faces haven't shone.

The son would never know his father

while both women with their eternal void.

The acts of bravery, the son 'd hear rather,

those who stayed would be of life devoid.

Wrapped in flag, salute and gunfire

together they stand in pride and tears.

Committed to flames on sacred pyre,

a brave soul who overcame all fears.

The widow forgotten, the son 'd grow up

to follow steps as a son of the soil.

They who drank full from life's cup,

a life to give, one more enemy's plan to foil.

Once lost her life, now maybe her lap,

one brave at borders, the other without a frown.

For generations they have filled the gap

and have adorned grief like gems on a crown.

Prasenjit©1997-2021