Sweetness of the fruit depends on sweats of the farmer who sow,
The blood stains on the edge, only sharpens the sword.
Master is a man, who couplets the actions and his word.
Ain’t it lily that floats on the puddle of mud?
And still grin like a queen on a throne.
Brandishing the swords of words,
Evoking the cached- the surreptitious and unknowns.
Reflect me the mirror so that I see it in all angles,
A kaleidoscope of wars and boredoms.
Incite, a moment of truth or vain
Plunge the knife, so that I am alive again
Drown me, so that I learn how to swim
Wake me up, time has come to realize the dream.
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