Upon the pleasant experience of watching the evening views of a rural area, yet having its unpleasant share when industrial sites are setup in these areas.


An evening


To dusk, its modest way, a lovely sight,
lures the heaven's dimming glow,
Untouched, a phase, by the day or ensuing night,
cradles a freshness to bestow.
A humble experience, few words suffice,
now my muse to a thoughtful repose,
amidst a time nature beauteously reprise,
forever my mind to engross,
This rural bower, my heart it renders,
a savor, this aura & beauty,
amid sylvan imagery, to view, I wander,
nature's full bloom at her duty,
With steps, mid-paced, time for a stroll,
a steed for stress to ride out,
upon stone studded road, yet grasses scrawled,
all dust retreat to their hideout,
Past the lush season, the dry field skirts,
the thatched and humble homes,
primitive sweat, their living still spurts,
a repast for their blood and bones,
Traditional tunes play lowly in my ears,
that with the ambience accords,
voices of milieu, I vividly hear,
that sparks of composure, the time rewords,
way, time-honored, attires adorned,
still endures their modesty & charm,
indebted to the almighty, devotion inborn,
they embrace the humble alms.
Upon the dry field, gather, the youths,
to freshen and sport the sweat out,
shabby attires, the game it suits,
youthful vigor mustered aloud,
The meek cows gently pass, in line,
the hooves' mild clatter upon the road,
this humble beast's presence tradition imbibed,
religion's path they trod.
This gentle beast, the herdsman nurses,
through its offerings he sings,
his livelihood's tough yet humble verses,
from dawn till the mellow evenings.
The crimson hue, its departure evident,
slakes the advent of twilight,
recited, prayers, amid households, vibrant,
harbinger of hopeful insight.
Deeper into dusk, nature's voices subside,
only for her next act to start,
nocturnal noises, to whom ours fears confide,
to night a lively image, they impart.
As I return home, upon the silent street,
devoid of streetlights, thus the dark,
vivid but nature's gleam, stellar, that lit,
unveiling the lands, now fairly stark.


A sound, as usual, pervades the still air,
my feelings' dark share it summons,
industrial siren and a blazing flare,
advancement's towering demons.
The aura around it, noxiously wreathes,
it drills deep into the ground,
the black treasure long lulled beneath,
its usage, upon our world, surmounts.
A large patch of the land, lush,
supplanted by these mechanical roots,
essence of the time, yet effects adverse,
necessities' exploitative offshoot.
A view, in me, sprouts feelings, varied,
of the night, that time had changed,
nature & artificial voices married,
an unpleasant symphony they stage.
My candid sentiment, upon hope, layers,
that may these roots, widely, not spread,
stands our mother as the unlucky payer,
still on her decline's road ahead.
Proudly they glisten against the night sky
and the lushness, an uncanny contrast,
ways, the present world, they potently drive,
to their product, they solely entrust.
Treasure, above and below the sheet,
where scribed are nature's silent words,
erased by souls and minds, elite,
thus the greater treasure needs to be heard.
An evening to feel, ensemble indeed,
of these thoughts that ceaselessly pass by,
economic and aesthetic blend this abode can breed,
if to a balance we can confide.








Poetry by Nilotpal Sarmah
Read 246 times
Written on 2011-04-12 at 02:52

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