Wednesday, December 4, 2013

The Song of the Peasants

Sitting by the window one day,
I sang a tune which I remember to this day.

I heard it while going to the vales,
where the maidens carry water in their earthen pails.

The peasants cut the crop clean,
the sweat on their brow which is hardly seen.

Where the dust settles on the village streets,
only to be thrown away by the bullock's feet.

Dancing in circles, hand in hand,
they tell a tale of their native land.

Singing away a song so sweet,
the hills seem to sway to the rhythmic beat.

The birds stop in their flights,
the singing goes on in the moonlight.

The bells on the lass's feet cling on,
as the dancing goes on and on.

The song of the peasants echo in my ears,
so sweet a tune, I haven't heard in years.

                                               
                                                                                                     © 2013 Abhijit Pandit