The Encroacher And The Forest-Dwellers. Poem by Subrata Ray

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The sky is willowed,
The moon is full,
The stubborn forest,
The scattered hills,
Are dumb but indifferent,
In their usual deals.

I from a grass-roped - pallet,
Cast my fasted –eye,
And sooth my empty stomach,
No food could manage I.

The wife exploits the children,
Who nag for a bowel of rice,
Instead of boiled roots and leaves,
Tomorrow they may have a feeding prize.

The forest is kind with Mahuya and beech,
And serve her dry branches and wood,
Peeling, cutting, and carrying to market,
Give least cost of drudgery for family’s food.

Me, Haren, Netai and many of my brethren,
Are born and brought up in this forest green,
We had no intruder,
But now the force of Govt. lease,
We are for the forest, and forest is ours,
But the wrath of civilization, now it ceases.