When the wind strikes the brim of the ocean,
As it blows on the unfathomed water,
Rises a vast wave in the deep yonder
Which, then turns into a vaster version.
As the wind grows gustier and wilder
Like bumptious sea demons roar the breaker
Rising higher into ether’s mansion
And turns into a wave of destruction.
In the petite ponds that calmly slumber
In the green moss covered rustic lagoons
Ripples are born even at plunge of slight stones.
In rings they traverse growing in number.
Yet as they move on they do not cause pains
And harm not anyone by any means.
The ripples wither in silent slumber.
Oh! they wane and ebb leaving no cumber.
Mortals, pretentious of pomp and pride
Who defy even those who stand by you
Beware, the mounting conceit within you
Will be shattered like a rock smashed vast tide.
Cravingly, I desire I were like you
Who abide in silence, while feeling blue,
Like ripples mutely born in ponds’ world
And dwindle in tranquility untold.