The Islands Poem by Veeraiyah Subbulakshmi

The corals on the sea bed,
Colorful, but visible as the shades,
The ups and downs of the stuff,
Not man made, but created,
The fresh and pure from the hills,
Slide down as the silvery falls,
The lightening in between the hearts,
Collection of fresh water near the port,
Haltingly waiting to be mingled,
The otters arrive from nowhere,
To catch and eat all these Pisces,
Left are those fries playing with plastic boats,
Fixed with solar panel to paddle,
A secret place on earth surrounded by spirits,
Of ancient scripts, a pregnant woman,
Never gives birth, resting and showing the tummy,
To the sun, Islands emerged from the collapse,
Of the feeble crust of weak earth,
Already explored but yet to be exploited,
The quick sand under the feet of cloudy thoughts,
Always pull one to reach the deep trouble,
When fixed with wings of paragliding ballons,
Flying can be done, but landing is fun and a pain.