coromandel fishers
Rise brothers rise the wakening skies,
pray to the morning lights,
the wind gets 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,
for we are the sons of the sea.
No longer delay lets hasten away,
in the track of the seagull's call,
The sea is our mother,the cloud is our brother, the waves are our comrades all.
Sweet is the shade of the coconut gladle,
and scent of the mango grove,
and sweet are the sands at the full o'moon
with the voices we love.
But sweeter, O brothers, the kiss of the spray,and the dance of the wild foam's glee:
Row, brothers, row to the blue of the verge,
where the low sky meets with the sun.
