Tribhawan Kaul
A morning in an Indian village
Rising sun in the horizon
a fireball in space
like a bride of first night
blushing and gushing
blossoming sunflowers matching its pace.
Triangle of birds
wave after wave
chirping in symphony
flying in harmony
towards the crescent
a sleeping beauty in space
fading slowly with heavenly grace.
Tillers out in fields
sowing seeds
and hopes for millions
their women bending backs
cutting weeds
small babies crying in shacks
drawing attention to have their feed.
Village children in open space
waiting for initiation
to the world of education
listening to the teacher
with not so rapt attention
Milkmen competing to deliver
small vendors crying hoarse to sell
the sun shines bright on everyone
grandpa has many stories to tell.
Flowing stream creating music for soul
baying cows and rumbling of goat chimes
joining the chorus
beggars with begging bowl
street dogs have no mercy
so none thinks of village security.
Temple, mosque, gurudwara and a church
inviting everyone with open arms
so many faiths
truthful and straight
mornings in a village has its own charm.
---------------------------o-----------------------Copyright/Children of Lost God/ Tribhawan Kaul
https://truml.com