It is a long, long weekend
with the festival on the verge
harvesting is in full swing
paddy, millet and maize converge
heaped in separate wings
hay is stacked in piles
the farmers run about in a worry
the traders rush in a hurry
with the weighing scale and cash
the transactions are done in exact
the sacks full of grains are loaded in a flash
their journey across the fields start instant
as the human traffic dies down
birds descend and saunter around with anxiety
pick the remains that lie on the field now brown
the farmers recline and relax with contentment
the celebration takes off with an enchantment
dance around and sing merrily with immense zest
fire crackers and beat the drums with overwhelming joy
an expression of gratitude for the good revenue
without a forget end up with an anthem to Nature the giver of all.
Meenas Poems 