Tuesday, June 14, 2011

Poem 155 - On the Beach

Standing on the sand, letting my feet get buried in sand
Waiting for the waves that come, holding my sisters hand
A huge waves, makes water come up till our knee
Finally we sit far, fully wet, thanks to the sea

I begin to collect shells, but I find one, makes me throw all other shells back
That one big shell in newspaper I do pack
Carefully keeping it in the picnic basket, I look at it once more
So beautiful, so smooth and to think that I found it on the shore

My sister likes it too, the strange colors on it
I close the basket and down I sit
Letting the beach's soft sand slip through my fingers, brown and cold
The sand gleaming when the sun shines, pretending to be gold

Finally we sit in the car, It is time to go back home
But there is no place like home, whether yours is in Washington or Rome
I look at the shell one last time, its pinkish color giving it a strange effect
It was a really good shell that looked nice and perfect
-Gaurang Rao


  1. Love the line about the sun pretending to be gold. Nice magpie.

  2. I find I like strange things on offer, too. Something a little different. I loved this piece and agree with Other Mary, too!

    ps......and the backing music is an added bonus...!

  3. ..wonderful story Gaurang... very amusing!!!(:


  4. love the imagery.
    beautiful job.

  5. I loved it; so much beauty and imagery~ It was truly a treasure to read~ :D

  6. All shells notwithstanding, there is no place like home.


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