'Ye dil maangey more! ' he exulted,
After he had pounced upon and killed
The enemy raining shells and bullets
Down the cliff in cold Kargil.
For Sher Shah Vikram Batra,
No opposition was tough, no gradient steep;
Soaring on wings of patriotism,
The brave young man won peak after peak.
Then, like tigers before him and after,
For the flag in which they draped his body,
He rose to a peak higher then Everest
Throating his battle-cry: 'Jai Mata Di.'
Again the nation rose as one,
To salute and honour India's sons;
For our tomorrow, they'd given their all,
No sacrifice big, their Himalayan call.
But in Delhi beneath Imperial domes,
Our leaders remain so ever unmoved,
So what, some argue, if a Vikram dies;
It is what he had willingly signed up to do.
The British had shown a big man's heart,
For Indians who died in the first great war,
An imposing memorial, each name in stone,
They built when they did their big blue dome.
Their King got a small canopy alone
In the shadow of the martyrs' gate of stone;
Our leaders rest in vast memorials,
No thought for their own orphaned soldiers.
Not six inches given in six decades,
For the brave who fought and perished for us;
For them there's a tiny flame that cowers
In the bowels of 'India Gate' that towers.
They rage unheard, they cry in vain,
Our martyrs dishonoured with plain disdain,
But nothing can shame our leaders vain;
Having never ever lost their kith or kin, they remain,
Untouched by both pride and pain.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem