The Soil Of My Native Land Poem by Prabir Gayen

The Soil of My Land

I love the smell of the soil,
The fragrance of my native land,
I love the blowing of the wind,
The air, the wind and the breeze,
I love the birds and the animals,
The flowers and the trees,
I love the music of the morning,
The dirge of the evening,
My soul is inherent in my village,
I love the village boys and girls,
The pond the tank and the green field,
I love the wrong chanting of The Gita,
The celebration of the village festivals,
I love the devotion of my native confluence,
I love the chirping of the birds like the chanting of the metaphorical Books,
I love the change of the seasons,
The summer is painful and elusive,
The monsoon is Joyous and full of Love,
Autumn is yellow and lazy,
Everything appears to be full of trance,
Like Autumn late autumn is like
the priest of Love,
Nature is lively and inspiring,
The winter is a season of painful LOVE,
The village appears to be a field of Feast,
Nature with its beauteous forms incites the
age-old question of life and death,
Here everybody is for everybody,
The morning sun is dreamy
The noon is full of Life and the afternoon
and the evening are full of strange symphony,
Life in this native village is very slow and
People quarrel with sweet anger,
Life is too slow to be called life,
Here life is full of meditative state of merging into infinity,
Sense of death and its beauty dawn with the gloomy and gleaming Moon on the Lone village,
The silence of the village is like
the silence of the great sepulchre,
The sun and the moon are very personal
in my native land,
Life is full of silent evolution
and deep clamour,
Among the poor people
Divinity is found at play,
I love to live and die in my native soil.

@prabir Gayen
2: 42 AM. Thu, Apr 29: 2021.