Away from those lands of barrens, where he chose to never come back,

Elected a path of pathos rather, remembering the breach & whack

For life had a standstill, endures were on hold,

Wishes he had killed all, dream were back long sold

When was pushed in the hollow of darkness, with knives dug on the hind

His beds has been sorrows, still they had been kind.

With a believe to rise one day, choosing to lay hands to demands,

I think somewhere he was murdering his contentment, truth was still in remand.

These walls were quite long, built with bricks of rejections,

Concrete on the foundation of curse,

Here is a story of a strange red rose and leaves of broken trust.

For the midas who touched lives to gold, where was he leading- no unfold

Fear had rented the mind, gloominess resided in the heart,

If life permitted few changes, he would have changed its start.

As every rose has its thorns, so every night must have its dawn

Love will come someday to heal him, till then this quest will be On……