Soil wet,
With blood of sacrifice,
Young lives,
Spirited souls,
A dream that became the Cause,
The Cause that became the reason for life
And oddly so, for death as well.
Yet, no mother cried,
No daughter wept,
Sacrifice was theirs as well.
As sons vanished,
Fathers perished,
A dream that became the cause,
The cause that became the reason for life and death as well.
The seedling of freedom,
Sown in the soil drenched in blood.
Wise men said,
‘At the stroke of the midnight hour,
When the world sleeps,
We will wake to life and freedom.’
Midnight’s children,
And the generations there on.
Sacrifices forgotten,
The cause rendered meaningless,
Still sons vanish,
Fathers perish,
But Mothers cry,
Daughters weep,
The Dream that went in vain,
Why this bloody rain..
Freedom …
The shrub that never bloomed,
All that remains is the thorn…
Where are all the spirited souls?
