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When a nation bleeds, it is not just the soldier who bears the wound…… the farmer’s plough, the teacher’s chalk, the artisan’s chisel, and the child’s lullaby carry the weight of sacrifice. In times of terror, every citizen becomes a sentinel, every street a battlefield, and every heartbeat a war cry. This is not merely a poem…… it is a flame lit by fury, honor, and undying resolve. Let it burn in the soul of the homeland until every invader turns to dust and every shadow learns to fear the dawn.

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The drums have thundered in the hills, the skies have called our name,
The earth beneath has stirred awake…. it will not sleep the same.
The steel within our bones ignites, the fire walks with me,
This war is not of borders now…… it’s blood, and breath, and free.

Rise, O kin of sleepless nights! Your silence is your sword,
A whisper borne on battlewinds can be a nation’s word.
The soil remembers every step of those who marched and fell,
Now it is we who bear the weight, and we who burn through hell.

Let cowardice be buried deep, beneath forgotten clay,
Let honour speak through shattered chains…… let valour light the way!
We are the storm the tyrants dread, the blaze no dark can tame,
Each drop of blood, a rising sun; each wound, a patriot’s flame.

O mothers, dress your sons today not in gold, but grit and gun,
For every child must learn to stand until the war is won.
The fields may flood, the skies may break, the rivers may run red……
But we shall plant our flag so high it flutters for the dead.

Not marble tombs nor foreign oaths can break this soul apart,
The might of empires fades before a people’s burning heart.
We do not bow to tyrant tongues, nor crawl before deceit,
We sing in fire, walk on blades, and never know defeat.

If you can breathe, you are the blade….. if you can walk, then fight!
The war is not beyond the hills….. it walks with you at night.
Raise your hands, ignite the wind, let ashes be your shield,
A thousand stars shall guide your step across the broken field.

This dawn is not of peace alone…. it is a call to rage,
A story writ in soldier’s blood on history’s sacred page.
The soil remembers every step….. now make your own resound,
Until the enemy is dust, and liberty unbound.

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There are moments in a nation’s life when poetry ceases to be beauty and becomes breath……. heavy, hot, and urgent. This is not an ode of peace. This is a declaration carved in stone and sung in fire. To the soldier…… this is your march. To the citizen…. this is your stand. To the enemy….. these are the footsteps of a people you can never tame. The land remembers. The sky watches. And we rise.

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