Beneath the banyan’s ancient shade,
A king once dreamed, his empire swayed.
Gold turned to stone, and stone to dust,
Pride’s mighty throne betrayed by lust.
The heavens roared, the sun turned pale,
The earth replied with a mournful wail.
For hubris blooms, then withers fast,
No mortal’s reign is built to last.
In golden halls, a statue stood tall,
Head of gold, but feet so small.
The people cheered, yet cracks ran deep,
A storm arose while kings did weep.
The iron crumbled, the clay turned dust,
The wealth he sold began to rust.
The temple bells rang, yet none obeyed,
His voice once feared, now fades away.
In exile’s shadow, truth takes root,
The crown’s illusion meets its mute.
A stone from nowhere struck with might,
And swallowed him into the night.