Across the river lives a spirit, The possessions of whom, the new city doesn’t wish to inherit;
Raised generations and nurtured several childhoods, said it, Youth gave aspirations that made them split;
With beautifully carved and archaic windows and doors, Is the City that never experienced downpours;
Its beauty, the tourists loved, Yet the natives rejected;
Cow dung, narrow streets, traffic jam everywhere, Forgotten have they, they’ve had roots from there?
A population grew socially, Led a life of simplicity;
A few smiles are still living, Responses and visitors are they awaiting;
Some streets forgotten and isolated, others at the mercy of trade, Will the glory of the roots of Amdavadis, so quickly fade?
Established by a crown, Will it outgrow into a ghost town?!
Kindly visit there often, Temples and Heritage sites are wide open;
And don’t let this elegy, Turn into a eulogy