image
What could be done
When our wings got ridden,
Our voice becomes less boisterous,
We couldn't sail in tranquility.
We Move ! We got bridled
Our sacred salient becomes forlorn,
Emphatic promises was our gain
Later we turn back in shame.
It could be hard in doing
But we are leaving in saying,
Without so much fair hearing,
We couldn't last on the gaining.
Hope in them becomes contingent
To the gate of assortment,
Our tears brought us endorsement,
Leaving the ends in disappointment.
We venerated them as gods
Later unfurl in representation of dogs,
Nothing could be adjusted and done,
We are leaving without action.
