They rode down like rain,
But in vain;
Tears filled their eyes with despair,
Ahead, their hopes beyond repair.
No longer the sound of the war cry,
Their sense of victory, now wry;
Hopes were now inanimate,
Their future now burning in the grate.
They toppled the kingdom,
They won their freedom;
But they lost their own blood,
Houses burned down to the mud.
They wanted to be free,
All they now had was eerie;
Life riddled them a riddle,
Their life was now a fiddle.
'The Retreat' By Suhaas Putta.
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