Weary I am, listen you all those hearing me,
Here I stand ahead, not with delightful heart.
In dejection I exclaim, pay back my sweats-
And all those span I bestowed for felicity.
For your cause and the demesne I strived for,
So uniquely for the life that counts forever.
The second I call with hopes to fare,
Every nook and cranny in mind of trust,
Even dispensed equally of my felicity,
Not just for those old or young, even you
In hope of blooming soil that I desired for.
But, all seems a waste of time and vigors,
The thronos before me seems Armageddon,
The chamber it lies a lackluster, so palish
And my nous somber to see those younkers.
Not just blooming like an aimless knight,
With blur eyes cause they dig their sweat
For deadly fruits that hides in the flame.
Look beyond, my comrades, and my head,
Innocents were they, but traversed the limit.
How can I appear with such weary face?
Being deluded, my instinct bleat high,
Millions fingers at my roof that never was,
My demesne is rusting now and then.
My dearest one with their deaf ears,
Delivered me with treachery at this spot,
Whom I ever consider a ruby in my territory
And left me vex to worry about life that piles.
Count, how fiery my limbs and my spirit
So pallid, gazing upon your unwind dreams.
Count at that Dahlia, no charms in it I find,
And my comrades so heedless in travail.
Why upon my torrid, you plainly stare?
Better be out with your instance attempt.
Let the day after be like a Peacock in Vanity,
To let me adorn this golden seat rightfully.
How its philia be restored, you know it well,
Rush in authority to redeem it from failing,
Hold not the hell rule them in your presence
For you're my own and in you my hope rests.
The promise of Eden is in my mind to make,
And you all my fairies- the courier of peace
For better land to create free of vexations
Forever, life after life even if we go forth
Humble in spirit, being useful white knight.

By Santosh Kumar Biswa