Song Of The Simple Land Poem by ashok jadhav

At dawn the village wakes in mist,
The rooster calls the light to rise;
Thin smoke curls from the earthen huts
And meets the pale, unclouded skies.
The path is worn by barefoot years,
By quiet feet that greet the day;
The fields lie wide with patient hope,
Where seeds and faith are tucked in clay.
A farmer sings to guide his plough,
His tune is old as soil and rain;
The earth replies in yielding furrows,
Sharing both its gift and pain.
By noon, the neem gives kindly shade,
The well speaks cool to weary hands;
Children chase the dust and sun
And learn the world as it stands.
At dusk, the river gathers gold,
The cattle walk their homeward way;
The village breathes a softer calm
As daylight slowly slips to gray.
No towering walls, no restless roar
Disturb the stars' unbroken sight;
Here hearts grow deep in humble ground
And sleep beneath the open night.