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Title By Dipankar Chakraborty Like the sparks of the crystal water droplet Which ignite the mighty world from the chest of the small leaflets, The diamond eyes of the mere child aim the arrow of love, To tied us in the knot of sovereignty being bestowed in love. That mere child don’t know the darkness of this earth, Its tranquil cry makes them to talk mirth. But the parents of the spouse seal a mark on its head, The title, which isolates one from other, they accept it with glad. The title makes one royal and makes other minority, Gives one a life of silver spoon and gives other inferiority. Only this separate one from other and bring forth distinction, This only brings riot or the matter of perception. What is this which bounds people to forget their humanity? What is this for which mass killing don’t caste any impression in their mentality. This also makes the mere child to think like rival, It will also praise the theory of blood for blood, which is trivial. Thus it is the original face of this era, Murder, in place of hand to hand, is the power of the era, The call of hold my hand when turns in to blood hunger hooting, When the spring music turns in to blast or shooting. Hai the small king, you are the gift of our civilization, Don’t follow the path of our ancestor, please realize your humiliation, The path of rusticity is the boon of that mighty soul, Please make it soul spirit, than you can achieve treasury in the sac of coal.