Ask me not
From the ruins ask me nay
A handful of dust
Bed of woes clothed in cobwebs,
Air and drizzle, a duster, I fear
May erase the broken verses many
To nurse the scar, plugged partially
And nay O! Pen airy more woes.
Beat nay that old scar of lament
Beneath sleeps broken dreams many
Half buried, half attended and ignored
For want of eye, evidence and efforts,
A new bud of gloom may sprout thus
A territory of terror on cards
Shall ruin me alone nay, but nation all.