The sun so strong, outside the window.
Yet it's cold, frozen to death,
the warm revolutionary ideas.
At the blink of eyes, things have turned so wrong.
We swore to struggle, at the cost of everything.
We pictured immortality beyond the victory of our flags.
Our brothers, who fearlessly faced bullets,
smiled, as they walked to the gallows,
kissed the noose as if it were there valentine's lips.
Had their death gone to vain?
When we were captured by the soldiers,
we were hung up and brutally tortured,
mercilessly they ripped off our skin,
they smiled as our muscles gave up,
we didn't surrender, even when they hit us hard.
We pictured handcuffs as ornaments,
and jails as a paradise with our valentine.
The brothers who swore to us,
to keep the struggle alive,
must have been dead or brutally killed.
Had they been alive, the chill would been unnoticed,
the blanket of coldness would have been stripped off,
the Sun would have been ashamed,
their struggle would have been much warmer.
In this island where we have been kept,
and there's water and water around everywhere,
fellow prison mates and guards to accompany us,
beyond the walls are poisonous snakes,
there's no way we can even escape.
Pass on the message, to our brother's,
ask them to be safe, and continue the struggle,
we are born indebted to our motherland,
the debt shall vanish only with death.
Our sacrifice shall be recognized,
only when the Tricolour shall be held high.
The generations yet to come,
shall know they they got their peace,
because some men choose to weep,
in dark cages, and pictured victory.
These line have been penned up as a respect to those Indian revolutionaries who were jailed in Kalapani.
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