Living in a state called paradise once,
Turned into a cemetery now,
Blossoms trampling without number,
Became habitual sergeants now
Reflecting anguish a breath of every one,
Wailing now a doomed fate,
Bothering not for our axe to grind,
Ready to give a life for it
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Trying hard to make us dumb
Yet ignorant of million mutinies now
Hark! It would be an errand’s mission,
We are of strong will.
No doubt, parting aches heart,
Never think we’ll be afraid,
Play on pranks till you wish,
Yet, for sure never you win,
Stop flagging a dead horse,
Million mutinies yet to come
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