Life of a soldier is no less than a challenge,
Yet in each step, they are gallant.
Death can shriek at any turn of their life,
Maybe with a gun, grenade or a knife.
Service to the nation is always first for them,
Nor money, power, family or fame.
They stand brave even in the wildest storm,
Nothing is more precious than the Tricolour and their uniform.
14th February it was- called Valentine's day.
Miles away, the phone rang
'Hello dear! I love you,' he said
Tears rolled down the cheeks of his wife,
She said, 'today is the best day of my life.'
'Remember, how you proposed me with a RED rose?
And put the RED sindoor after we took our vows?'
'Yes my dear,' he said 'today is so special'
'By the way, how is my sweet, little girl?'
'Still sleeping, she was awake till 12 to wish me happy anniversary'
'She is indeed our little pari'
'I wish you were here today'
'Sorry dear, what can I do you say?'
'Don't worry, I am a proud wife of a jawan'
'And you are all of my dil and jaan....'
With these words they kept the phone,
This would be their last conversation, they had not known.
On that day of love,
All of the memories they were reminiscent of,
Burnt down in fire,
Fueled with filthy desire.
All were drenched in the color RED,
Not with balloons, but blood- all dead.
Their mighty hearts fell prey to the flames of hatred
They became immortal, not dead!
The RED sun set the sky on fire,
To pay tribute to the RED glowing pyre.
The nation lost 40 brave sons,
And left tears in the eyes of everyone.
The enemies of humanity think- in the eyes of God they will dwell,
We all curse, they deserve something worse than hell.
With that Red Tilak on their head they took a vow,
To protect their motherland anyhow.
With the Pulwama attack, our Tricolour bled,
Our martyrs are immortal, not DEAD!
And so this was the color RED!
That shows the loving heart, and the heart that bled.....
