3. A TRIBUTE TO THE HOME SOIL
There was heavy consternation in the atmosphere,
we hadn't slept all ruthless night,
the floor marble was biting cold with accumulation of winter dew,
roof plaster was on the point of immediate collapse,
there was an obnoxious stench of vegetable food,
the wall had several crevices, in which resided venomous snake,
dark waters lurked in colossal interiors of adjacent well,
the birds had forgotten to chirp their mystical rhyme,
trapped we were in domains of solitude,
in slipshod ambience of primitive hut,
hands tied in rusty iron shackles,
feet wound tight in brutal cold chain metal,
mouths stuffed with fluffs of unprocessed cotton,
tears rolling down our mud painted cheek,
highlighting streaks of fair skin, within wax coated molecules of dirt.
water seemed a remote possibility,
with meager loafs of bread offered at dispersed intervals of time,
the enemy camp made us prisoner,
held us captive for massacring their men,
with our body fortresses, in which flowed blood of true patriotism,
there was no sunshine filtering through,
our bodies lay limp, gasps for breath had receded down,
we knew we were on the verge of extinction,
as we saluted the flag in unison,
took a pinch of soil in clasped hands,
left for long journeys to heaven, drowned in the
fragrance of our home soil.