The Siachen Guard
A mountain so high In the sheath of snow In the white abyss of sky Mans the gates to home
Every breath, a mercy of Lord And every step in itself a goal In the gusty blows he stares cold Like a mere speck in the grand brawl
The icy blizzards and biting frost Violent storms piercing lonely soul For the sake of duty, he shall accost Letting fate to take the final call
In the deadness of height As the wraps unfold Braves a fierce fight Unknowing the foe whom to hold