When the world celebrated the day,
With red roses, cakes and gifts,
They, oh my… were left to celebrate,
With red, not roses, but blood…
What was their fault?
None I would say.
They were just going,
From one camp to another.
The sudden hit and jolt,
Brought their lives to an end.
It shattered their kith and kin too
As they were left to mourn.
They could have enjoyed life,
With roses sans thorns.
But they chose the thorns,
As their motherland was their Valentine.
A rose now adorns,
Their memorials instead of hearts.
They continue to live,
In the hearts of their countrymen.
Image Courtesy : Google