Across Dried Land

Judge me not when I merry and make lyric Of the most obscene and unthought-of frolic Tunes, The wait has been worth for the dunes to form To behold spectacular dorm moulded in perseverance Hard work and endurance, The monsoon withstood long enough to pave way For the calmer and serene moonlight, Casting its beams across the dilapidated and sun-baked Land, on which stand round and about Only remnants of the former glory abound Standing still sans life, sans hope, sans all that astound. Deep within the decomposing flora of the beautiful Aura that adorned the sacred corroded land Now an adage of the most told beatitude of the fallen Beauty and unmatched wit The distant echoes carouse, kicking disjointed limbs to rouse To life, to till with the only worn remnant hoe Into the diamond-hard foe To conquer and restore the fallen glorious city Crying in distress, Calling out for resuscitate and attent