Error
Wrinkles on the brow mark the enchanted paths— those that strayed through countless errors, etched now in the layers of age. The shadow-path walks alone, while bodies fell upon the roads of illusion, amid the revelry of gods. The severed head of a sacrificial goat, its glassy eyes clear as truth, prepares the stage of life, directs the course of tomorrow. Venus still shapes white coral, or pearls— yet false dreams lead astray into mirage. The furrows of fate shall one day claim their honor. Look straight into the eye, lift the finger, ask: does light, does strength still dwell on this earth of blessings and lust? If night rains, dawn shall be clear. In the land of scandals and peril someday Abhimanyu shall rise— but step slowly, from front to back, for the chakravyuh awaits on every side.