where the writers are

The place of our birth.
Where happiness abounds.
We Lark about as if,
Striven for survival is hilarity.

Not until, they arrive
Together with their armed bandits,
The virulent forces of life
Feint a distortion on our mind.

Thwarting the anticipated happiness
A hope mashed with acute degree of homelessness
Striped naked to the vagaries of life
Summing up the humiliations and worthlessness’

Almost becoming a pariah,
Where, running-away is the only apostasy
Instead of restoring the hope, the aspiration.
By simply reforming our life to inherent blessing

Trepidation, a mocking bird
Why did you want to runs us down?
Why did you want to ritualized us
Why did you want to torporized us

For your coercion, shall not make us a fatalists
Hence, a whet resolute to spring as a birds
Though springing from this turpitude
And evolved from this sickening mesmerism.

Patience is the only strategy connecting our future
Percipient possessing our possession
To perspicaciously breaking this torpidity
In addition, simply springing to our season of harvest.