The sun doesn't revolve around us,
And it was known to the ancient Hindus.

How they estimated precise distances,
It's still an exclusive paradigm of sorts.

This poem is not a nursery rhyme,
For it discusses what went wrong.

Wrong with the history of Hindus,
And with the tapestry of the world.

Hanging down the global gazebos,
Is a wonderful story of lost wisdom.

Tendrils of drowsy pleasure entice and hypnotise,
As daybreak storms; a rapturous collision,
Of distorted cadences and scintillating harmonies,
Between discarded blue-sky sheets.