Posted by: Ron DuBour | March 19, 2017

MY VILLAGE~by Saroj K Padhi




Whereto the village of my childhood is gone?

Where is the virgin smile of the sentient Sun
that wooed lush green heart of a dew-clad dawn
under whose light bloomed million musky flowers
showcasing beauty of a morn, somber, love-lorn ?

With lock hanging from the old scripture house
my village now smacks of a milieu quite urban
as the club house bursts with sounds of T.V.,D.J.
and crop fields look dry, dreary likechildren orphan;

dusts no more rise from hooves of cattle in dusk
nor delight drops from wings of the birds in flight
farmers no more sing in fields out of love of work
as they have left home out of insecurity and fright;

the wooden rice-maker no more hammers paddy
in lazy afternoons with long gossips by housewives
as one-rupee rice reaches them without any effort
and joy of harvest festivals has gone out of lives !

A sentiment fool, I roam here in the hills and dales
trying to pick some pearls of memory from river bed
that is drying up to feed factories, under new gales,
in my desire to recapture a few joyful moments dead.




  1. Reblogged this on O LADO ESCURO DA LUA.

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