The Rising

He asked me not to pen a few words about him,
He asked me to keep silent, not to sing a hymn,
He loved to be left alone, away from all limelight,
He loved to be simple left in the dark away from any twilight;

But who else best knows him than I do,
Praise him with all my heart, pen the best words I will never rue;
He was patient, intelligent, foresighted, generous, helpful talented a bag of adjectives,
He was moving steadfast in his own style towards his goals and objectives..

But the world thought otherwise, they never saw him a threat,
They saw him as timid, incapable on him they would never bet,
He was one of the enthusiastic entertainers around,
He was seen as a jester, a clown he was 'crowned'.

He never bothered that he was not really rightfully recognised,
He stood as a rock, humiliations many though not demoralized;
He never moved his hands for nothing, nor nodded his head for everything,
He believes his time will come, everyone's in for a beating...

He may be immersed fully in the ocean, he may be burnt to ashes, swept off as djust,
But wait with bated breath, he will come out with a splash , rage back as fire, satisfy all his lust,
The lust of winning always, making the world sing to his tune, be at his feet,
Beware 'he' is rising, he is going to breathe fire, bear the heat...

He is usually in his shell, but bites back hard his crab-like impulses,
He erupts suddenly at you like the volcano, please take care of your pulses...
And he is the rising...