Will the Promised Renaissance Ever Come

Dawn of sleep in the night
Is the product of weariness
His anatomy receives
In the hue and cry of the day
Carrying the fire in the belly
Reason never does have a siesta
Dozing in the night is the reluctant child
Ever escaping from the homework
Once the grey beared faces
Talked of renaissance to him
Whose advent guaranteed
At sweat and blood
Eyes still await
Like a wrinkled face
White hair mother
Ever laying her eyes
At the threshold for the arrival
Of her soldier son
Now the hope:
An accomplice with sweat
Is dripping off the forehead
And sleep as if packed
In an old vanity box
Kept in the abandoned almirah
Is in a constant conflict
To reach between the nose and forehead
Β©jeyforyou

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