In a dream I’d give anything to wake up from,
a wake-up call that’d inform,
how you’re entrapped in this castle of disdain.
As I swore to languish this pain, so did you fortify to your gain,
and again and again to widen your domain,
at the expense of not only subjects, but your first son.

We all clapped to your promising ambitions,
the father of not only this but many nations,
years later only evidence is of the crippled visions.
All I’m left with is hope, hope that the wind blows my words,
to one of your heavenly mansions,
or the gates of one of your favorite bungalows.

If only you had a single quintessence,
you’d relate to this haves-not state and place,
where a full plate is another imaginable face of fate.
Every morning reminds me of the past,
when your words would forever last,
but your future would be a tragic thrust.

I blame my naive anticipations or age and convictions,
As the day I stood by my beautiful “princess”
I didn’t only need you present as a witness.
I prayed you’d be a father, a leader or at least a land giver,
but your self-centered smile wouldn’t be a paver.
But if blood is still a family tier,
Then hope is my savior.