Rise, brothers, rise; the wakening
skies pray to the morning light,
The wind lies asleep in the arms of
the dawn like a child that has cried all night.
Come, let us gather our nets from
the shore and set our catamarans free,
To capture the leaping wealth of the
tide, for we are the kings of the sea!
No longer delay, let us hasten away
in the track of the sea gull's call,
The sea is our mother, the cloud is
our brother, the waves are our comrades all.
What though we toss at the fall of
the sun where the hand of the sea-god drives?
He who holds the storm by the hair, will hide in his breast our lives.
But sweeter, O brothers, the kiss of
the spray and the dance of the wild foam's glee;
Row, brothers, row to the edge of
the verge, where the low sky mates with the sea.
~ Art by
Sanya , Snigtha, Urooj, Aman
Grade Vc
M.C.G.S
