Bets strand of it—is my miserable road

Against the riffraff people, my mischievous load,

And my environment which seems so broad,

Still the frown in my face remains cloaked.

Oh! I’ve been stoical for so long.

Sometimes, I don’t know where to belong.

My heart though hurt shows joy

For my malady since I was a boy.

This heart so long been aching,

Engraved in the harshness of a-searching,

Docked in the world of a-hoping,

Has never been given a chance for expressing.

That’s me!

I used to conceal my true emotion.

And no one can divulge it even the most virtuous.

NONE other than me and my signatures.

Signatures—my writings, my works,

Signatures that knew the song in my heart,

Signatures that could read the fiery in my mind,

Many can know true me within thee…