The Story Of My Village

Poet: Sundar Shireesh

My village 

Is like a real village

And, therefore, has everything.

In this village

The cock’s crow wakes up before the morn

And the sun wakes up together with the cock’s crow

In the moment of rising the sun,

The dews begin to wipe off  the tears of the village

And then dawns the concert of the birds.

When commence

The prayers in the temple, monastery and mosque in the village,

The river lights up the incense stick

And the haze covers the village up.

With the feet heavier than her trouble,

When the beloved comes out,

Carrying the grass-basket, namlo* and sickle

In order to find out life on the pages of labour soaked in sweat,

Then smiles the brae sweetly

And sings the songs of rosy recollections left behind by lovers

The waterfall whistles music similarly

Dances the grass alongside the melody of the sickle of the beloved.

My village

Is like a real village-

When, bearing the bag full of letters

Children set out to school,

Carrying  the plough, yoke, spaddle and spade,

Godlike fathers climb down towards the basin,

And mothers more beautiful than the earth,

And thereafter are written

Twisting letters on the breast of earth by the plough

The seeds of colourful plans are sown,

By which will have to be bought tomorrow

The collection of alphabets of the lives of our offspring.

In order to inquire of the fineness and illness

The wind runs on

The life-giving-water falls down riding on the rainbow of serenity

The hill protects like the sal* tree

The sky embraces being the roof

The earth plucking up herself offers the smile bloomed 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 rhododendron,

The kinsman from abroad,

Thereafter, smiling sweetly,

The sun goes down towards the river riding on the aircraft.

How colourful it is!

How helpful it is!

How cordial it is!

And how self-respected my village 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 named shorea robusta. 

* Namlo is a carrying rope attached with a band used by the rural people.