‘The Echoes of Freedom’: Poem by Shritika Ugale, Apeejay School, Nerul

Class: 9-C

A story of sacrifice and unity,
Where the worth of blood is recognised.
Where the light of hope flickers and dims,
In the 19th century, the story begins.

1857-A spark in the dark, a nation stirs,
Blades drawn by farmers, soldiers and herds,
For glory? No. For stolen lives .
Through blood and ash, the dream survives,
Crushed yet unbroken, whispers remain-
“One day, this soil shall rise again”

Years passed in the shadows, but hearts stayed awake,
Bound by chains, they refused to break.
The congress was born, voices grew strong,
Soft words at first, but the road was long.

1905-Bengal was split, a cruel hand’s game,
But fire spread faster than they could tame.
Homes lit lamps of Swadeshi pride,
Burning foreign cloth, standing side by side.
Songs of freedom filled the air,
Each broken heart learned not to despair.

1919-Amritsar weeps, the ground runs red,
Jallianwala Bagh, where silence bled.
Bullets rained on unarmed cries,
But out of that dust, A phoenix would rise

And then, he walked, barefoot and still,
Salt in hand, heart with iron will,
Mahatma marched, the world stood still
Peace was his sword, unshaken his will
Every step echoed, breaking the sky –
“Why must we bow? Why must we die?”

Yet not all fought with folded hands.
Some chose fire to free their land.
Bhagat Singh smiled beneath the noose,
A quiet defiance, a life let loose

Bose thundered, “Give me blood!”-they heard,
His voice a storm, in every word.
And hearts ignited, fierce and bright,
To break their chains and rise to fight
Voice united, a blazing cry,
For freedom’s dawn or death to die.

The British ruled with iron hand,
But we fought harder to free our land.
Rani Laxmibai drew her sword high,
Ashfaqulla smiled as he chose to die.

1942-The land shuddered with a single cry,
“Quit India!” rose, do or die.
Mothers sent sons to the streets unarmed,
Knowing freedom was worth every harm.
Jails overflowed, but spirits soared,
A nation in chains, yet never ignored.

But freedom came with a heavy cost ,
Lines on maps, millions lost.
Tears and cheers filled the air,
Freedom was won -but was it fair?

August 15th 1947 -Finally free,
But at what price, this victory?
From a simple cloth to a symbol of might,
The Indian flag grew bold, shining bright.
The ensign rose high, the skies did too.
A battered people, yet bold and new.

This is not history carved in stone,
But a heartbeat, a cry, a bond full-grown.
A tale of pain, of voices unheard,
Of blood, hope, and strength in every word.

Poem by Shritika Ugale

Class 9 C

Apeejay School, Nerul