Ploughman Poem by Saroj Padhi

I'm a poor ploughman with my blunt-headed wooden plough

trying to dig deep into the womb of hard pubescent earth,

a black beetle inside a warm oozing flower at a dark noon

blind with wine of love flowing in waves of overflowing firth;



a butterfly in quest of colors that once bedecked the wings

when crows struck by hard Sun lose the power of speech,

dust-colored leaves swing in the empty hot hugs of dry winds,

ground water sinks still deeper out of poor humans' reach;



the dying lust of an ocean desirous to flood dry river's estuary

a wingless bird's hollow hops to scale heights of tall Himalayas

broken prayer of a flute, lost utterances of an impious rosary

when well-intended actions stray away from the stream of ideas;



I'm a speechless poem inside the honey cove of your imagination

a sad song of blind bees in wilderness of hives awaiting the union.