The Farmer Poem by panicker p.k.n.

A fragrance in the air
a sweetness, a blessing
moist and cool
the Monsoon is here.

A smile on his lips;
eyes speak volumes,
reverberating confidence
dreams of a burning hearth.

Dreams kept him alive
in draught and distress
his kith and kin hungry,
suffered in silence.

Parched earth, plants and trees
shriveled, reduced
to a broken winged bird,
he held fast to his dreams.

Eyes fixed to heavens, dreamt
of pregnant clouds, enticing
to spread wings to dance,
the dance of life, eternal.

Drip, drip, drops of water
eagerly gulped down
open mouths a thousand
earth quenched her thirst.

Dark clouds grew darker
gentle winds turned violent
slashing streaks of light and
thunder pierced the dark.

Little streams flowing down
hillocks here, there, add up,
unsettle the soil leaving
slushy roads, bruised dreams.

Cats and dogs poured in,
waters erase boundaries
submerge roads and pavements
disrupt hutments and hearths.

Elsewhere, open manholes
swallow up the unsuspecting,
muddy waters on your face
gift of speeding vehicles.

Standing crops submerged
cattle under leaking roof
children cuddled to mother
water could be cruel, too.

A ray of peeping light
a welcome sunshine
the little dog shakes off
the wetness on its coat.

The dog explores the world,
the farmer walks beside
the sulken paddy stalks,
the felled plantain trees.

A little sad, a little grim,
to recast bruised dreams,
resolves he to live on,
to build a better tomorrow.

The cycle goes on, a bright sun,
a good harvest, a coy smile
on her lips, his life’s partner,
children’s wide mouthed laughter.

In the tropics, monsoon
provider and destructor
visits, like the tides
on a pattern set.

And the smile on the lips
of the farmer, his kith and kin,
changes to moods
like colours in a fading rainbow.

The cycle goes on, a brighter sun,
parched earth, hungry mouths,
birds begging for a dropp of water,
the long wait for the next monsoon.