By Namya Sharma
Flowers bloom on the battlefield,
Courageous tombs they lay at its feet.
A sword cuts through, a cruel melody,
A brave young youth, blood flows silently.
Flowers bloom on the battlefield,
Flowers bloom between you and me.
Corridors deep, and pavilions high,
A demure lady draped in white.
A verdict of despair, she asks, Why?
An eternal wait and a silent sigh.
Longing eyes and fragile she —
Flowers bloom on the battlefield,
Flowers bloom between you and me.
Flowers bloom on the battlefield,
Destructive winds on slaughter they feed.
Barren lands drink the blood that seeps,
Summoning of heroes, epics and tales we keep.
Strength and sacrifice, they eventually meet,
Splashes of red, verses only he can read.
Flowers bloom on the battlefield,
Flowers bloom between you and me.
Vermilion on her head, crimson on the field,
A tragic, exotic love story they wield.
Fluttering hair, trembling lips I see,
A lone shadow, resilient as a tree.
Moon or sun, no difference she will feel,
Tick-tock of the clock, every second she will reel.
Longing eyes and fragile she —
Flowers bloom on the battlefield,
Flowers bloom between you and me.