Today, Guru Dronacharya shall tread,
Upon this path ahead.
With Yudhishthira, Bhima, Arjuna so bold,
Nakul and Sahadeva, a tale to be told.

Arjuna's eyes, a blaze so bright,
Shall illuminate the fight,
Upon his lips, the promises made,
Words of triumph, in the air cascade.

The symphony of triumph, a melody so kind,
In dreams it dwells, a treasure to find.
Though its embrace eludes my grasp,
In slumber's realm, its echoes clasp.

Behind the tree, their presence near,
Where my life's story, proud and clear,
Unfolds its astonishing tale so true,
I'll envision them, standing in view.

Gracefully there, Guru Dronacharya's form,
A memory rekindled, a feeling warm,
Once again in my mind's eye,
I'll see him, as time passes by.

In the corridors of memory, will he recall,
The moments we shared, the times that enthral?
Will he pause, perhaps, and reminisce,
About that day, a memory's sweet kiss?

In his golden komandolu, a relic so fine,
My triumphant right thumb's shine,
Still radiates the glory it knew,
A victory's testament, forever true.

Oh, the triumph and victory, once held so high,
Now enslaved, their glory passing by,
They'll weep, gazing upon my plight,
A man who once shone, now veiled in night.

How can the one who steals a smile so pure,
Become the Guru, with teachings secure,
In Kurukshetra's lineage, a twist unforeseen,
A paradox of life, where contrasts convene.

Becoming handicapped, my strength confined,
Battlefield and joy, no longer intertwined.
Today, Guru Dronacharya's path he treads,
Aristocracy and selfishness, where he leads.

His belongings, his world, in tow they glide,
While I stand diminished, by fate's side.
Yet within, the spirit remains, still and strong,
A heart's resilience, enduring the wrong.