Mushroom Pickers Poem by AMITAVA MAZUMDAR

The sun grand at its glow….making simmers….down at the downest plains….beside the hillside…a motion of mushroom pickers….
Light shovels in their hands….a cane-basket tied at their backs…eyes tilted beneath…always….towards the soil…..sometimes slithers…at the glare of mushroom pickers….
Where the hill slackens….a little curved…and the woods began….thick and thicker….dense to denser…with the sway of mushroom pickers…
Their bodies are bendable….like the green climbers…easy to low down….asking for mercy….but could uproot deftly….the edible fungal growth….may be egg-white…or a little pinker….at a single touch from the mushroom picker…
Before the sundown…their legs turned homewards…thank the soil and the sky…..for their toil and search…..even if their baskets are unbulky…inglorious to a farmer….though they welcome the next sun…to the wait of the mushroom picker..