Lands Of Kutchh Poem by Hardik Vaidya

Barren but fertile.
Ridden with salt, yet sweet.
Washed by the sea, bathed by blue skies.
Yet dusty and innocent playing child.
Souls spring from the end less land.
Grow in the breeze and burn in the sun.
Take in the salt of the earth in them,
Comes out the glow of the Lands from them.
Barren but fertile.
Ridden with salt, yet sweet.
Washed by the sea, bathed by blue skies.
Yet dust and innocent playing child.