There is no rush
On the pavement at tourists’
spot,
Between waves and loneliness,
I sit alone on marble seats,
Beside Bay of Bengal beach,
With a pair of distinct beats,
One blue horizon,
The other concrete binding,
Through the nature,
Very close to sincerity and alacrity.
Sometimes people settle down
Within images in glass, light
and color,
As wave settle down with
breaks,
Sucked inside ocean’s gravity,
Each habit and each wave
having duty,
To create inside and outside
of events
In the world that we are
With the sense, having focus
on pictures,
To kindle each side of smallest
slideshow,
Like the ocean’s passage with
time and wave.
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