As twilight trespass on the foetus of the sky
to sprout forth the moon,

We step on seaweed and sand dunes,
off the tidemark.
And wallow in the Mediterranean Sea,

We cheer and smile with a silvery grandeur.
And the waves of our smile
wrought to beam back at the celestial lights.

We are the Mediterranean
And the Mediterranean is us

In our utopian errands, we wield some majestic force
– we flow; smooth, crystal, long and wide.

And all along, we see the pillars and arches of Venice.
And compare with belief – in our drowsy psyche  
– that, they had sprung up overnight like Cape flora.

We are the Mediterranean
And the Mediterranean is us

Sensual, yet so soon
we walk back our regal persona 
against the roller-coasting slumbering role
beyond the eyes of the shore.

And at a wink,
we are still a mite of mildewed brooks   
scattered on a thirsty
 – albeit – emerald green landscape.                                              
We aren’t the Mediterranean                                                  
And the Mediterranean isn’t us

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