And this is what Stubble Fire thus spoke:
I am the fire that burns annually in those meadows
where dry grass has found its shadows;
I am the smoke that rises and billows
over those skies and clouds like little cigarillos;
I have no limits or boundaries as I burn and blow
from that grass after the crops that the farmers grow;
I have to provide the farmers their field for livelihood
as they have to also feed other people their nutrition and food;
I am the stubble that burns all night
as I am the dry grass that has no worth nor right;
I have to vanish and let new crops get sowed
as the land of providence is only then mowed;
I am the passing breeze of smoke and haze,
tomorrow there will be new seedlings of many crops and maze;
I am blamed for the air pollution by you
but as a dry grass I have to be cleared by you;
I am the stubble that has to be burnt
and I don't know how and who can stop your grunt;
I am the rising smoke that burns in the fields,
no law has been able to stop me after those crops and yields;
I am the fire that empowers the prosperity of the farmers
as crop-rotation fills up all their silos and grain chambers;
I apologize to you sincerely for all that smoke and its risks
but it is the activity that makes the farmers so brisk;
I have been here as a fire from that stubble burning,
as agriculture has been the culture of farmers and farming;
I have no control over the smoke or the flames,
it is not me but it is the North Westerly wind you have to blame.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem