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…
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