A NATION

The bugles from afar they proudly sound -
arousing unseen moments so profound.

Some as ashes mingled in the holy air -

with pride and moist eyes we are aware.

Also gallant were those we call our foe -

who rests forever within mother earth below.

How could a precious life one willingly throw?

On sacred ground they fell, row after row.

Clouds often gather in the vacant sky -

raining tears for souls from above the high.

They from their loved ones are forever away -

while we just get to live another day.

Vultures never swoop down on hallowed lands,

wherein the spirits of martyrs roam in bands.

Heaven prospers under shadow of swords,

securing it's gates from murderous hordes.

As fragrant petals gets strewn on the field -

they have chosen their path never to yield.

They are the stones on which a nation is built -

as some flowers are plucked before they wilt.

©Prasenjit