The Golden Boat Comments
Clouds rumbling in the sky; teeming rain.
I sit on the river bank, sad and alone.
The sheaves lie gathered, harvest has ended,
The river is swollen and fierce in its flow.
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No room, no room, the boat is too small. Loaded with my gold paddy, the boat is full.....I salute the magnetic power of imagination of the great saint!
It is Miss misfortune that comes on the water in the form of bad weather and takes all the golden harvest but leaves the miserable farmer to suffer. The small farmers of Bengal and other places in India still fall prey to the whims of bad weather. In a different thread it could also be the boat of the rice whole-seller, money lenders boat taking all the harvest. Either ways the misery leads the small farmer to commit suicide, sometimes.
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8/2/2025 5:32:45 AM # 1.0.0
good poem but no explanation