Is not that of a dreamland.
Neither there is a flowery pathway,
Nor do the exotic peacocks sway.
Mirrory streams never gushed.
Nightingales are all hushed.
A valley isn’t a beautiful countryside,
For, there are no snow covered mountains beside.
Through the envelop of air,
Did the rays of the morning sun thoroughfare.
But I dare say, I don’t care.
The heavens cry every monsoon,
But I will not forgive them so soon,
For, we, the dwellers of this land,
Have no peace, brotherhood or a charitable hand.
Only when we have acquired them,
There is no mayhem,
And the things that weren’t there,
Come alive very fair,
Driving us to behold, fancy and appreciate,
The adorable nature’s fate,
Before it’s too late.
And that, is my wonderland.