When the Tricolour Rises
Every time the Tricolour rises, it carries with it the dreams of those who never lived to see it fly.
When the Tricolour rises above Parliament,
I do not see only three colours
I see a thousand stories,
a thousand sacrifices,
and a dream called freedom.
I see Gandhi walking barefoot,
carrying truth like a weapon.
I hear Bhagat Singh’s fearless silence
before the gallows.
I remember Subhas Chandra Bose
calling a sleeping nation to rise.
I remember Rani Lakshmibai
riding into battle,
refusing to surrender her courage.
But history has more names
than the pages of our books can hold.
There were farmers who left their fields,
students who left their classrooms,
mothers who watched their sons walk away,
wives who waited through endless nights,
and countless young hearts
who chose the nation
over their own lives.
Some went to prison.
Some faced the lathi.
Some were silenced by bullets.
Some disappeared without a grave,
without a statue,
without even a line in history.
Yet they gave everything
for a freedom they might never see.
Today, Parliament stands where
the dreams of a free India
continue to find their voice.
And above it, the Tricolour flies
the same freedom
for which so many hearts
once beat beneath a foreign sky.
On Independence Day,
we celebrate the freedom they won,
but perhaps we should also
sit quietly for a moment
and remember its price.
What can we give back
to those who gave us everything?
Not flowers alone.
Not speeches alone.
Not a salute that lasts for a day.
Let us give them an India
where courage is respected,
where justice is valued,
where every child can dream,
and where freedom is never taken for granted.
Because the flag they dreamed of
now flies above us.
They gave their today for our tomorrow; let our tomorrow never forget the debt we owe their sacrifice.
Composed by TABASSUM NAAZ
