Somewhere

Somewhere the morning breaking with red disc of the sun Arising from, reddening and breaking into sunlight, The golden flashing sun Just like a photographer photographing, A lensman with his digicam. Somewhere the fishermen at work, into river waters fishing to pick Into the bamboo basket, The same poor and rural fishermen And the landscape secluded and lonely, Away from human haunt. Somewhere the golden oriole, the yellow bird with black stripes, The head blackly and the beak red, The feathers somewhat blackly, but instead yellow completely, Taking shorter flights But beautiful indeed, Singing with the golden tone, The sweet notes of it rarely heard so. Somewhere the blue bird flying and flying high into the skies, Encircling and encircling with the wind And sounding strangely, The feathers of it smoky and ashy, But the blue colour golden blue. Somewhere the morning breaking with the chant of the Vedic And the Upanishadic hymns, The chants, prayers and hymns resounding with All around the Vedic hermitage, The straw thatched and mud-built homes.