Life is a battlefield, vast and wide,
Where storms may rage and tides may turn,
Yet every scar becomes a guide,
And every fall, a chance to learn.
The cannon roars, the dust clouds rise,
But courage walks through fire and rain,
For those who dare to meet the skies
Know loss is just the price of gain.
In the hills of Nainital, wrapped in mist,
Where oak trees stood like ancient souls,
At Birla Vidya Mandir, lessons kissed
My heart and made this warrior whole.
The classrooms hummed with quiet grace,
The playground taught me how to fight,
Not with fists, but with a steady pace
To rise again, to seek the light.
The teachers there were more than guides,
They were the compass, north and true,
They showed me where the real strength hides
In gratitude, in me, in you.
So when life roars and wounds run deep,
I hear those Himalayan winds once more,
Reminding me of promises to keep
That I was built for so much more.
Thank you, Birla Vidya Mandir, dear,
For giving me my armor and my song,
You taught me there is nothing left to fear
On every battlefield, I shall belong.
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