By Sundar Shireesh
My village
Is like a real village.
In the village
The cock’s crow wakes up before the morn
And the sun wakes up together with the cock’s crow
At sunrise
The dews begin to wipe out the tears of the village
And dawns the concert of the birds.
When prayers in the temple, monastery and mosque in the village commence
The river lights up incense sticks
And the haze covers the village.
With feet heavier than her trouble,
When the beloved comes out,
Carrying the grass-basket, namlo and sickle
In order to find life on the pages of labor soaked in sweat,
The brae smiles sweetly
And sings songs of rosy recollections left behind by lovers;
The waterfall whistles music similarly
The grass dances alongside the melody of the sickle of the loved ones.
My village
Is like a real village!
When, bearing bags full of letters
Children set out for school,
Carrying the plough, yoke, spadle and spade,
Godlike fathers climb down towards the basin,
And so do mothers, more beautiful than the earth!
And thereafter are written
Twisting letters on the breast of the earth with the plough
The seeds of colorful plans are sown,
With which they will have to buy tomorrow
The collection of alphabets of the lives of their offspring.
In order to inquire about fineness and illness
The wind runs n
The life-giving water falls, riding on the rainbow of serenity
The hill protects as the sal tree does
The sky embraces like a roof
Plucking up herself, the earth offers the smile that blooms on her lips.
My village
Is like a real village!
When the children come back from school,
The parents from the basin,
The beloved comes back adorning plaits with rhododendrons,
The kinsmen from abroad,
Smiling sweetly, the sun goes down the river
Riding on its aircraft.
How colorful my village is!
How helpful it is!
How cordial it is!
And how self-respected it is!
My village
Is like a real village!
But I have a sorry-feeling :
When will this country be like my village?
_________________________
* Sal is the tree scientifically called shorea robusta.
* Namlo is tumpline attached with a band used by the rural people to carry loads.
[Shireesh is a Nepali poet from Chautara, Sindhupalchok, Nepal. He is also a journalism, working at the capacity of a reporter at New Business Age, and edits an online portal Globalpatee. He is also a graphic designer and an artist.]