Sitting under the cashew tree, in the dawn of the dusk, twilight booms I stared at my grandmother's wrinkled old face, as she tells of warrior tales It's swaying ecstasy catapults me into a realm of enthusiasm Excitement wriggles down my spine, the man in me awakens to stardom The emblem of his kingdom, Supremacy His isms, fidelity and loyalty With fame and power he ruled, yet elegantly polite In a teasing nonchalant nature His deeds unmatched His tales be told of every folklore. Now I behold; The wrinkled old palely face of my grandmother, for the last time I remember the good old days, folklore times of my grandmother and I Tears spurt down my cheeks I weep like a child for the past My course is set.