Ruler Of The World Poem by Sumit Ganguly

They don't call me God,
neither treat me as a friend,
but fan and hum around the bee hive
night and day.

Now that I hold the string of this spinning top
you may find a tied up gas filled balloon
swaying on your existence
for the sake of translating a colored dream.

Those who lose eye for tooth
or life for eye,
their images will spill boiling blood on road
and their ghosts will gasp at the massacre.

Mercenaries and technocrats must unite
to eradicate poverty and shape my dream.
They have to save my images for generations.
A Hanging Garden of Babylon is in the offing.

I failed to assess the dark cloud above.
Typhoon and hailstorm ransack the earth.
Age of power has weakened my strength.
Now I'm on my way to inter stellar journey.