Sindoor Means History

The hour when nature found her people to be philharmonic, Became the night when roses went catatonic, There came the armed devils with their foresight infected with hate, Thus, the hour when our religion became their devouring bait, With the blood drawn from the innocents they made a medallion, And with their cries they marched back smiling with a battalion, The dead can't rest in peace for their lives bore the despair they didn't deserve, As they just wanted to cherish joy but got entrapped in a remorseless massacre, The men relishing within the poison of adversity, Is nothing less than a group of worms that doesn't deserve mercy, And, when he spits on the face of greenery, Then he's unprepared to learn about his fragility, That was the day when prophecy was retribution, The hour when sites of terror went above the sky as our liberation, The minute when intrusion was taught a lesson through incineration, As the midnight of hate shriveled into dust for their filthiest annexation, This answer restored the Indian dignity, So that the martyrs and the innocents could rest in tranquility, As our patriotism shall be revered even in somniloquy, Because the world believes Sindoor means history.