Global Warming Poem by Dhiren Doley

Until my eyes see anything decipherable
There was only golden color
Spread across the horizon,
Smell like the evening sun
Engulfed my existence
I was standing without a willingness to move
It was a paddy field
A field that blooms farmers' dream
A prosperous year was foreseen
A clear omen of good luck
It's quarter a year since the farmers' sweats have fallen
The thirsty soil has drunken the sweats
O the soil was drunk, it was really drunk
You know, only drunk soil bear such gold grains
What a color!
What a fragrance!
The sky was clear, clystar clear
Even my eyes could penetrate its heart
It was not at all willing to rain
It was not willing to beat poor man's dream
Frankly speaking, it was the season whence
The sun and the sky reach their orgasm of love
They shine for each other and romance becomes color
In no other season other than this
The sky is in full youth: beautiful, romantic, wilful.
The autumnal sun was willy-nilly going down:
Kisses, promises and fear of extended absence
In his yellowed look, the field was more beautiful.
I was willy-nilly back home in the cowboy evening
All the birds already found their nests
What was wrong? The radio at the center
Farmers sitting in a circle round my father's backyard fire
Colorless rainbow in their foreheads
The cups of black tea untouched,
A radio forecast for weeklong stormy rain
Abnormal season! Deceitful weather!
Who can tolerate the loss of all the gold grain in the field!
Calendar in the farmers' traditional wisdom failed.
Someone in the circle, from the second row
With shaky confidence, with a long whispering sigh,
I heard saying, ‘global warming'
And I was trying to recollect, where was it, when
I heard the gypsies talking about climate change