Old jetty’s feet are planted in the sea.
Waves still play old pranks with them,
Tickling its odd ribs to stifled laughter.
No ships call from bluest of high seas.
Last one called when white men ruled.
Crows sit still on it tired,a bit tide low.
Ships may not call from the high seas.
Old jetties do not die off just like that.
They carry fine ads for an underwear.
(On a visit to the Mogadharupadu beach in Srikakulam Dist in Andhra Pradesh)