A long time ago, when the darkness was a world cloth.
Nowhere was the light to strike in the path.
The innocent souls were suffering behind bars.
Keep on toiling despite the scars.
As a lamb, some shaded their blood,
as they deserted their homes for the flood.
With hearts wounded and broken into pieces
With hope to find an umbrella of peace,
Up the mountain, down the valley soldiered on.
They planted flowers where we depended on.
They did not let world negativity suckle them.
Sadly, present nature cannot see them.
As at noon they gather boasting under sunshades,
unable to account for who sweat for the shield,
carried away that someone planted and sacrificed for it
a long time ago, let me plant mine.