The sepoy looked up in despair Unhanding the musket from his brother-in-arms Passed on, muttering prayer For the men and souls, Lost and broken, Ferried away, their lives stolen. He scurried past bodies, under rain and hail Of fire and lead, his ranks fell The fire stuttering, becoming frail Under cold advance of their might. The sepoy looked out to call for his leader, To call out in the dark night I can still save my comrades, The war is not yet lost, Even as one falls, a hundred will cry 'Inquilab Zindabad!’, then the lead hit its mark, And the martyr shuddered Falling to the ground, without the spark Of courage, he rolled over Eyes fading away Witnessing with his last sigh The saffron and green taken over By the jack of the trades And the kings of the globe.
Stories are told all around us. We simply need to choose to listen.