The little daughter, Kerala
Is prized to her Mom, India
reluctance nil she exhibits
To stay at her Mom's holy feet.
Protectors of much stout stature,
Mountain and ocean well guard her .
They in caution lie on her sides.
Their duty, they do as her shields.
Owns she a right similitude,
Of a leaf, at its midrib, folded
With corrugations at its blade
Just as an artist well designed.
Lavishly bestowed God on her
A royal look viewers adore.
Watch her well from her feet to head
You can sight an endearing build.
Sought God to stitch her finery,
The tailors stitching, the finest
And so looms her catchy array
Always in an enchanting way.
Beset with fronts and buds and blooms,
just as pretty prints and patterns,
proud she is in her dress pleasing;
pleasantly she parties in spring.
Envy her, the clouds loud in ire
Forming in the height fine groups theirs,
Clout her bitterly on her head,
using the rain-strands as her hands.
Her father Sun, waiting seldom
Consoles her by wiping off gloom,
with his radiant energy
To keep up her holy beauty.
Now what a pity! Louts ruthless,
Using their harsh and tough tweezers,
having dirt a lot in their hearts,
loot her much bringing aching sores.
In her serene and sacred soul,
from the eye-filling tears, she sheds,
Can we fully read her sorrows?
Ah! No, stoop let us all in shame.
Linked with poets united http://poetryblogroll.blogspot.in/search/label/Verse%
Is prized to her Mom, India
reluctance nil she exhibits
To stay at her Mom's holy feet.
Protectors of much stout stature,
Mountain and ocean well guard her .
They in caution lie on her sides.
Their duty, they do as her shields.
Owns she a right similitude,
Of a leaf, at its midrib, folded
With corrugations at its blade
Just as an artist well designed.
Lavishly bestowed God on her
A royal look viewers adore.
Watch her well from her feet to head
You can sight an endearing build.
Sought God to stitch her finery,
The tailors stitching, the finest
And so looms her catchy array
Always in an enchanting way.
Beset with fronts and buds and blooms,
just as pretty prints and patterns,
proud she is in her dress pleasing;
pleasantly she parties in spring.
Envy her, the clouds loud in ire
Forming in the height fine groups theirs,
Clout her bitterly on her head,
using the rain-strands as her hands.
Her father Sun, waiting seldom
Consoles her by wiping off gloom,
with his radiant energy
To keep up her holy beauty.
Now what a pity! Louts ruthless,
Using their harsh and tough tweezers,
having dirt a lot in their hearts,
loot her much bringing aching sores.
In her serene and sacred soul,
from the eye-filling tears, she sheds,
Can we fully read her sorrows?
Ah! No, stoop let us all in shame.
Linked with poets united http://poetryblogroll.blogspot.in/search/label/Verse%