The wanderers' thrust for quenchless drink,

And enjoying every sip after getting, with utmost schemes.

Now cherishing to make another 'Erda' in their thoughts and dreams.

Taking the dice to mastery on 'Gaea,'

Letting the slip of worldly enigma,

Putting kindling on the eyes of own,

With the highest hope to go along.

Turning all into ashes, which were bluish-green once,

Planning to bring into the fist of one.

The ticking sound is being heard,

With the arrival of the wanderers in the fair.

At the time of embrace, they affix the 'green'

Meanwhile, he saw her blueish glimpse.

The more they entered, the wider range seen,

Their rashness greened that 'him.'

Seeing the ‘Green’ alienated that ‘him’,

Permeated to come after the days of fifteen.

With the tickling, the sky become more ‘green’,

Once that ‘bluish glimpse’ there also seen,

“That night it came also in my dreams

Couldn’t see the face because of the fabric in between.”

“Why the fabric? And how the rays are ‘Green’?”

“You, the wanderers, put this Chaos in!”

Gently losing strength getting purple upon the chin,

“Not getting what’s going out and in?”

Asked to see from the window’s grill,

Lots of tomb’s stone upon the hill!

The vacant fairground but requiem all round,

Suddenly some people in ‘White’ fabric seen,

They alienated some places with the paint ‘green’,

And forbid others to go in.

At the darkest hour of night, again ‘bluish-glimpse’ came in,

Lots of question asked by that him.

“Striker does not know, why?” With laughter reply.

Going closer to ‘fifteen’, losing the power of breathing,

Wishing to have someone staying by the side,

Who can make him again alive.

That moonlit night whispering to wake him up,

While fabric in between no longer seen,

That ‘him’ going with ‘bluish-glimpse’,

After leaving people saw one more ray of ‘Green’,

With the burden, saying-“never-ending it seems”.

Thanks for reading my poem. If you like it then put a like and comment.