The last time he came home, a month ago,
I saw his eyes gleaming,
But this time when he came home,
His sight left everyone grieving.

The last time he left, he told me,
That he would come back safe and sound,
He did came back the way he promised,
But wrapped in a tri-colour, his soul wasn't around.

He called me last night,
To ask if everything was fine,
I asked him why he was worried so much,
He told me that he had to, afterall I was his Valentine.

I realised that the clock had long ago struck twelve,
And today, love was the only motto,
I went across the house towards a shelf,
To take a good look at our wedding photo.

Then he went on to talk,
About our two beloved daughters,
About how excited they were to see him home,
And how badly he was missing their laughter.

There came a time when I wanted to end the call,
As I knew the night was falling fast,
I couldn’t help but hold on to it,
As the very next second, I heard a deafening blast.

I shouted his name over the phone,
As I desperately wanted to hear his voice,
But within seconds his phone went off,
And it left me without a choice.

An hour later I got a call from his colleagues,
And I saw it coming from the start,
They gave a call to inform me,
That India had lost a braveheart.

The phone fell from my hand,
As the news turned me numb,
I didn’t even know how to react,
As I was struck dumb.

It was hard for me to believe,
That on a day where love was being celebrated,
A fellow Indian who was brainwashed,
Decided to give his country a gesture of hatred.

At the crack of dawn,
While the entire nation was screaming “It's wartime!”,
A few of his colleagues carried his coffin,
As he left home one last time.

This rain isn't ordinary
The drops it contains are tears
of satisfaction of our martyred soldiers.