History beckons, call of the hour.
Once a hatred now turned to fire,
torches for future keep burning in ire.
I wipe my tears now to enjoy the view -
my home, where fell honey kissed dew.
Let us now spill, let it just overflow -
the darkened blood of tyrants we owe.
You were Gods? Never - We proclaim,
when humanity died was of utter shame.
Send those bodies to England's coast
wherein their homes they used to boast.
Down on their knees ridden with guilt -
make them know how blood was spilt.
I now return home, to my golden shore,
where we have oppressors no more.
Prasenjit©2022
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