One warm Sunday morning, a young boy,
Started with his daily routine.
He was selling peanuts by the seashore.
Hoping that all problems will be fine.
At half past eight, There it was,
It was huge, his eyes trembled with fear,
He had never seen any wave so huge.
Fear, down his cheek rrolled down a tear.
It came. So fast it came.
Swallowing everything on its way.
People running in all directions.
Confused and not knowing what to say.
He trembled, ran towards his home.
Home, a boaat docked near the shrines.
Prayed, and woke up his drunk father.
No heed father paid to his cries.
Then it came. Faster than ever.
He tried but to no avail to get help.
He jumped, fretted, and ran.
But crushed under the pressure of water.
Was it the end? Or wasn't it?
It retracted leaving everything behind.
Dead fish and corpse, crumpled boats.
And everything else began anew.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem