The battlefield of Plassey is silent now.
No sound of cannons, no marching soldiers
only a lone mango tree standing still.
Beneath this tree, a broken dream once cried.
The fire of betrayal burned in a ruler’s eyes,
and the air carried the scent of conspiracy.
The war ended, but the tree survived.
It witnessed foreign rule,
the birth of new generations,
and the slow forgetting of history.
People come, take pictures, and leave.
No one hears the tree’s silent sigh.
Yet it stands firm, reminding the world
freedom was once lost here,
and the cost was immense.
The last mango tree of Plassey
is not just a tree
it is the quie
t grief of Bengal
