[Poem] Braveheart

Anonymous On Wednesday, November 14, 2012

“Whenever in your life,
You meet the enemy,
Tell them of me,
Tell them,
One more braveheart is now in the Indian Army.

I will never surrender,
I will never retreat,
I will stand for my nation,
I'll guard my motherland,
Till my heart beats.

Even if I fall,
I will stand back again,
For my motherland,
I shall defeat every pain.

If one day,
I fall,
And can't stand back again,
Be happy for me,
I have fulfilled my childhood dream,
Martyrdom I have attained.”
Author: Harsh Dahiya

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[Poem] Last thoughts of a martyr

Anonymous On Friday, September 21, 2012


“Don't remember me when I am gone,
I will be far away, do not mourn,
I didn't die a cowards death,
I am a soldier,
With pride here I rest.

Tell my mom not to cry,
She is a martyrs mother,
Her head should remain high.

Tell my Dad to forgive me,
For I could not be a perfect son,
I could not stay with him for long,
I was guarding my motherland on the border,
Holding onto my gun.

Tell my sis to study hard,
For all my responsibilities are now in her part,
Tell her not to look for me,
Tell her not to turn,
Cause now I am gone,
Her brother will not return.”
Author: Harsh Dahiya


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[Poem] The story of Silk

Anonymous On Friday, July 6, 2012

A poem written by my younger sister Shikha Dahiya in 2011.
 
"Once a Chinese Princess was having a cup of tea,
When fell into it, the cocoon of the worm Mulberry.
Then I was discovered, and in the Silk Route,
4000 miles I had to cover, with spices, ivory and jute.
For years my making was, a secret for others,
But who could hide anything, from the Indian mothers.
Then in India, as sarees I was used,
Thanchoi, Banarasi and Bandhni, that left the buyers confused.
In the modern world, came the artificials of me,
But nothing was as evergreen, and as fine as me.
In the markets people still pay big, to buy me new,
And there would never be an end to me, and my story would always continue."
Author: Shikha Dahiya

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[Poem] Life of a Terracotta Cup in Delhi

Anonymous On

A poem written by my younger sister Shikha Dahiya on 15th May 2011 when she was in class 9th. This poem won First Prize in 2 National level competitions.


"First I was just a ball of clay,
Then the potter placed me on the wheel, one day.
Round I go, round I go,
The extra clay fell on his toe.
The shape of a tea cup he began to create,
Along with the saucer, that had to be my mate.
He left us to dry, until we turned green,
And made a handle for me, that mean,
After we were painted and sent to the market,
A lady bought us, we were happy not to be parted.
As she reached home, she called her son,
"Hey naughty boy! Place this cup in the kitchen"
We slipped from his hands, as he was busy eating jelly,
We broke into pieces and that was the 'end of my life in Delhi' "
Author: Shikha Dahiya

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