One day, late-night, sun yet not drops its primary Ray, King Seats thinking, for the first time in his age. ‘What misshaping I had done, or my elders did, that my countrymen being poorest? But yet we hold gold in thousands mine'
That morn news prints.
To start the day with, all satellite channels brief the news, and show the views of top men.
So people became to know the kings liking after a long off.
Few years later, citizen starts laughing and loving life. Even they start praying God for living long.'
This is a poetry, folktale and Reality.
Let the king feel to think, but not in Paris. In his own castle.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem