Tribute

I dedicate a small legend to those, mighty and wise
who lead a dreary life, bartering the greener meadows,
and at times leave behind, craving eyes,
empty laps and shattered dreams of their widows.

Desert, forest or snow, anywhere in the Indian map,
gladly they do move around, fetching life in their fists.
rubbing their tired eyes, to compromise on the nap,
waking up with the dial striking four on their wrists.

Strong, fearless, and agile,
Combating the violent storm,
Taking all in their stride,
Surely, they are the men in uniform.

Blazing sun, or chilly wind,
Or amidst the darkest of cloud,
Rising high on the spirited swing
‘Jai hind’ they do cheer aloud.

Bruised, lacerated and yet the zeal,
Injured, but unwilling to conclude
For wounds that refuse to heal,
Timeless chivalry do they exude.

Of bullets, bloodshed and the misery,
The struggle in the battlefield,
Coffins greeting their victory
To offer us their gallant shield.

So true are the colors of freedom
Blended in the shades of crimson,
Though it’s valued rare and seldom
their hues surpass the horizon.

Thy splendid mothers be thou proud,
As martyrs never die, but get immortal
when draped in the glorious shroud,
Heaven welcomes them at its portal.

Tinted in olive, white and pale blue
We pay due honor and tribute, and the crucial salutation
to the great souls guarding our integrity, who
live by chance, love by choice and are killed by profession.