It's early morning.
The mist comes rolling.
She engulfs, embraces, smothers.
The high rises of Worli snuggle and whisper.
The blue of the sea, Colors their being,
Clouds shapeless hug their ceiling.
Love is made, wanton, in open, and free.
The sky misses the mountains,
Accepts concrete in lieu of their need.
Beautiful poem, love the imagery, especially how 'the sky misses the mountains, accepts concrete in lieu of their need'. It is how I feel also, I miss the majestic mountains of Phoenix, knowing of them when pristine and pure, now missing them because of man's greed and need to destroy them and the desert to build his ugly monstrosities, everywhere, defiling and marring the once beautiful mountains and deserts of my childhood. Building skyscrapers, parking garages, and spreading concrete all over the land. Love how you care about the environment and aren't afraid to write of what you think. I applaud your character and strength of mind, Hardik. RoseAnn
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Just wanted to add that your poem entices me to want to come to India and see what you have written in your poetry. Sounds so very beautiful there in your country. RoseAnn