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I step on the ocean floor,
the cool breeze contents,
golden dust on my toiling feet,
at the fringe a fiddle sloshes.
I gather gems and shells,
folding my palms into a pormonteau,
detesting trinkets that I harvest,
a tint of silver lining unwinding into a filigree.
Closing my colors like a petrified statue,
I have not any sweats or qualms,
I seclude from the avaricious and benevolent,
blue chum alluding an attic of infinite hours.
A poem by Atharva Gadre.
On the top of the crest,
I shedded under an old pine tree,
tracking the sparkling citylights,
dim and glow.
The citylights coalesced here and there,
rushing on the dark paths to lighten them,
taking the most bizzare routes of the road,
upon an endless unknown journey.
The dazzling stones felt satisfied and calm,
they glowed and awakened a little of me,
I rolled down along the river shore,
locating towards the little town.
Oh! I left the heart of the crest!
the chirping of crickets and beetles,
the gurgle song of the river,
the white lit stars and the cool and composed breeze!
O Lord! It is raining!
the diamonds, pearls and stones,
all over the holy moor,
long miles away for the rare smiles.
Green, green and greenery,
the green lives blush,
the jolly creature on the tree,
happily hopping hanging its tail.
Under the Banyan tree,
the tea venders settle,
warm, fluffy scarf on the souls,
sipping smoothly the fragrant freshness.
The pure marbles fall upon,
the fragrance of the soil roams and rolls,
crystal tears in the braveman,
satisfied, sacrificed and sacred cry.
The atmosphere blooms!
freshfull, pure and positive,
the setting sun sparkles and shines,
slowly and steadily the cool breeze calms.
Oh Lord! It is such a miracle,
colour camouflaging beauty of the nature,
the nature, the learn for all beings,
cool, calm, composed and pure.
Atharva Gadre 