Of twinkling stars far away
Of crimson leaves that shed and lay

And of glimpses remembered, the demented one tells
And memories, old and frail he sells

Unlike his contour, in his sturdy utterance
He speaks his dirge, of his remembrance :

'A world there was, long before
Bounded by its thousand seas, a thousand shores

A surreal place, so magnificent
A divine aura in its ambience

And it spake of glorious battles fought
Of kingdoms conquered and riches bought

And innocuous inhabitants of pure hearts
Of valiant warriors, well-wrought

Of the birds that sang and the lions that roared
And artisans who toiled and diligently worked

The trees that grew on the dunes of sand
And the river that flowed on the parched lands

And a king there was, proud and fierce
Of a heart warm, a mind clear

And a lass there was, by him was treasured
Loved and adored in quantities unmeasured

Of beauty unworldly, unreal she possessed
And flowers sprung out, where her foot did rest

And ripples in sound minds she created
Pure flowed the water from which she bathed

The heavens showered flowers up on her head
And in her presence, the sun came up on wintry beds

Warmth grew out of her smile
And even time stopped to glance for a while

She, a ruler of his dreams, of his day
An inexplicable solution of his maze

And a paradise together they had seen
In love intertwined they had been

But then she had betrayed, fled away
To a man in whose love she had caved

A fragmented soul struck with torment and grief
And silence answered to his pleads

And then his rage had unraveled upon this earth
Terrorized by him, of his insane mirth

Then his sword had spoken, his rave unleashed
And skies had come down, before him they kneeled

Subjected to his anger, to his wrath
Feared by his vengeance, the fury he cast

And from the colors of gore, the landscape was painted
He, ruler of a satanic world, he had created

The shards of his wounds, of his heart
He plunged them into the earth, devastation he marked

And then, his madness had subdued
Aghast of himself, his soul lay ****

And years hence, this letter to her grave
He had kept it with his heart, with a rose he had laid.'

And the lunatic looks up, grey and old
Exhausted from his ordeal, the tale that he has told

And a tear rolls down his wrinkled cheek
His wounds remain, his heart lays weak

In the backdrop, a violin plays
And with a stride slow, into the distance he fades