The Ocean in her limits expanded the pride of her magnetite, in the midst of a thousand skies, a harmless soil.
Her courage has swept away a million atrocities on the havoc of ships, boats of kinds and nature defaulters.
Her beauty remain unquenchable, the Italian family admire the sense of her touch, they swim beside her shows.
Oh but my tears are so worthless, as I can't mount them to the sea for any use, why then do I shade this blood on my eyes?
The years of delivery, communication and romantic intelligent services, yet oblige to power vulnerable to weakness, I fill steps against me.
In the counting of my soul this vengeance alone, but in those moments when am not yet made vegetable for their soups, I see unbeatable height.
I assume son of the right hand but they assume the controllership of the right hand, I assume the worst of my kind would be thunders of history.
Mhm. Let Mistry determine their end as my moment of truth relate hope instead of the regular failure, while all ears admonish my superiority.
Just like the hunters gear up with flames in their eyes and that postures describing an intruder with evil purpose, mine may only be for love purpose.
Stalk me oh faith, deeper than the deepest stems to it root and make me sparkle for that greater goal yet to attain but hide my star from their faces.
And soon, I will become unbeatable, mounted and unimaginable because on expectations for, my determinations get an author of my nature tough.

This poem is about: 
My country
Poetry Terms Demonstrated: 


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