Albert Hall, Jaipur, India The illusion or dream of adolescence, Destined to zenith or in verge of penance. The smile, the laugh, the voyage to dream, From a struggler to the meticulous beam. A craze which incorporated to be the one, The Sparks of echelon is like the son of sun.
Jaipur, India Passing through the Midas never resides to allure, Falling down is like the shower which has to be pure. Brain, thinking and sieving to touch the need, Paying the blood for the thought I creed. Running through the bark for the dream, Lying with the pearl for the eclectic sheen. Beacon craving the veil of ordeal, Admiring the bow, as it aficionado the range of feel.
The legacy to believe, the wisdom to carry, Crest at pinnacle, always high, handsome and vary, The beautiful lightnings in the pink city, The museum stood tall in war and amity.