I am the Garden, who saw it all
Forever and deep, battered during the fall
The sounds of the guns blazes my ears
The very thoughts, brings me to tears
I am the Garden, a witness to the take
A party was on, shiny and bright, of God’s make
The sounds of laughter and every bit of mirth
Clinking sounds of the glasses and the sips filled the girth
I am the Garden, where the royals played,
The high trees and the rose bushes, where my masters stayed,
The bird on top knows the truth,
The playful squirrel has gone mute
I am the Garden, I saw it all,
They fell on the earth, having braved the brawl
The nation fell with them, losing its charm
The animals cried and the paddy wailed far away in the farm
I am the Garden, the unlucky one,
Who knows it all, but keeps mum like none
Truth I know, but whom do I tell,
Is the world ready to hear me wail?
I am the Garden, where the spring is dry,
Without the masters whom I held high,
The glow is gone, the sparks vanish
Their journey to God, uncelebrated without a garnish
I am the Garden, for whom heaven felt the heat,
Where they trod with smile and aplombe
The bullets came fast and made us all numb
A nation left in grief, folks are now dumb
Writing with a purpose 