The Paint Book

The Paint Book

Standing on the sandy shores,
I watched the three shades of waters,
Coming together from all three sides,
And converging into a merry dance of shimmering waves,

At a distance on the horizon,
The Sun rose from the depths of this confluence,
It looked very much like a painting,
Out of a child’s paint book.

But in all truth and reality,
It was the dawn of another day,
In our glorious land of India,
A country of a thousand cultures and a million heroes.

The place I was standing is called Kanyakumari,
Where some say the bountiful Bharat ends,
But I say what people claim is an ending,
Could very well be a new beginning.

For nothing ever ends in reality,
Whenever people find themselves at a loose end,
They ought not to think of it as an ending,
But the glorious beginning of a million dreams.

This post is part of  the Blogchatter Bloghop