Sunday Poem By Chandradeep Roy
Fell for my Mother
The bullet made its way,
From its path it didn’t sway,
On it went straight as an arrow,
Made a huge hole, a hollow.
A void which cannot be filled,
Strong, and well build,
Made tougher for the battle field,
Victory, yes victory was the yield.
Drops of sacrifice touched the ground,
Masses everywhere, all around,
One final mission was left,
In his mother’s arm he was kept.
She was proud to have made him,
For it was him, who made her dream,
Her fallen sons fell for her,
Laying immortal on her lap forever.