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Aching Skies Of Valour

By Subhobrato Mukherjee


Amidst the solemn haze of battles fought,

Where heroes draped in valour, battles sought,

A poignant tale of mothers' grace unfolds,

Their mournful saga, silently untold.


Their hearts, an ocean vast of boundless woe,

A sacrifice profound, they stoically bestow,

With tears that trickle down like sorrowed streams,

They weep for sons enshrouded in war's reams.


In fields where valour’s fleeting flame does rise,

Their cherished offspring soar toward cerulean skies,

Yet deep within, an aching chasm lies,

A void, where loss perennially denies.



With trembling hands and eyes of haunted gaze,

They bear the burdens of war's remorseful phase,

Each sleepless night, a requiem they compose,

For sons, departed, to a realm that endless goes.


No more those radiant smiles shall they behold,

Or savor touches tender, once foretold,

In days of yore, when childhood dreams were spun,

A love suspended, veiled by war's dark sun.


Yet steadfast, they endure the tempest's strife,

These guardians of the fallen, strong in life,

Their inner anguish veiled by valour’s guise,

Their strength disguising shatters and goodbyes.


In photographs and memories they clutch,

Their sons in sepia hues, a poignant touch,

An unbroken bond, resilient through all time,

A love that blooms beyond death's chilling chime.


Oh, mothers of the martyrs, cloaked in grief,

Your courage stands as solace, sweet relief,

Within your tender grasp, they found their worth,

In battles fought and skies that gave them birth.


Their bravery lingers in your soulful gaze,

In trials and tribulations that amaze,

For you, resplendent heroes, strong and true,

Unseen, your mournful hearts, like skies of blue.


In days of peace or times when tempests roar,

We honour you, bereft, forevermore,

For through your pain, you teach the world to cope,

With love that heals each wretched, wounded hope.


By Subhobrato Mukherjee




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