Treasure Island

Hardik Vaidya

(26 Dec 1969, I won't be dead till you know I am alive. / Mahuva, Gujarat, India.)

Gujarati's


We are farmers, we agree to culture.
Farming opportunities in deserts,
Through the windmills of our efforts.
We trap the sun in our eyes,
What's left we store in silicon's slice.
We sow endeavor. We till risk,
We are ruthless to the moment and brisk.
Our minds are like our lands,
Saline, sandy, loamy, fertile but always productive.
We learn what we need, leave what is not conducive.
We know addition multiplication, don't focus on substraction and division.
We sneeze, cough or go shy,
The stock exchange goes for a dive.
The crop grows in our eyes,
Fresh, minted, sparkling, bright,
The Reserve Bank of India her might,
Looks at us with pride
we are its delight.

Submitted: Wednesday, February 06, 2013
Edited: Thursday, February 07, 2013

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Poet's Notes about The Poem

I am a Gujarati, born in Gujarat, raised in West Bengal, worked in Mumbai, therefore I look upon my folks with my own eyes.

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