The rock that once balanced on the mountain
has now tumbled down and blocked the only pass,
the valley remains cut-off, unable to sustain
even prayers could not move the big stubborn mass.

When great minds converge, they carry burden of hopes,
when creativity has to come out of neccessity,
esoteric ideas amalgamate with ladders and ropes.

Sheer force was unable to move the heavy bull
the ram was dropped and chisel was chosen,
it was time to think whether destruction can be beautiful

That which cannot be moved, can be carved to perfection
suited to your need, can bloom with painstaking nurture.
The valley now has become a source of attraction
with a tall structure on pass, called a gateway to the future.

If you're ever on the riverside
where the sun beats your head
you would see the old man
selling hats of palm leaf
but you care not to notice him
having already smelled the sea
and too keen to cross the river
travel southward on the island
till the saline wind scalds your eyes
your skins itch to jump into the waves
yet the man with the palm leaf hats
would not cease to tell you
how burning would be the sun on the sands
and so badly you need to protect the head
by parting bucks that mean nothing to you
but a world to the mouths he feeds
and before you stamp on him a final no
she has one atop her hair
beneath which her eyes flutter like butterflies
her sun rouged cheeks untimely blush
and two born anew lovers
merrily head for the sea
having bought romance
for forty bucks.