Day thirteen rises with dread in the air,
The Chakravyuha’s trap laid bare.
Drona's formation, a swirling storm,
A deadly maze, perfect in form.

I stand helpless as my son, Abhimanyu,
Enters the vortex, brave and true.
Trained to break through, but not to escape,
His fate is sealed, no hand to reshape.

Krishna holds me back, but my heart burns,
For my son fights alone as the world turns.
One by one, the Kauravas descend,
And in that cruel circle, my boy meets his end.

The sky itself seems to mourn his fall,
My heart shattered, broken by it all.
How can a father stand, so lost in pain?
The weight of this war feels too much to sustain.