04-11-2013, 06:25 PM
India- The Rainbow Land
The dawn is vermilion, started with the conch.
Farmers with their bulls and tinkling of bells
in green fields of paddy in waters ankle-deep.
Chatting over pitchers, noirettes at the wells.
When urns of frail clouds are broken by the winds,
the rainbow descends and paints the people bright.
Ah! the jungle-dance of the peacock begins,
heterogeneous hues converge to form white.
Dreams in eager eyes, blithe kites in the sky,
flying unhindered, yet the fate is chained
to dearth and poverty, the reel in unfit hands
who taint freedom's garb and justice is detained.
Still the dusk observes cheery men walking home
in dark the fensters glow not only with the lamp.
Vicissitude alone can never lower the masts
of courage that has not known ever to be damp.
A jewel it had been and a jewel it would be,
jewels may be robbed but the artisan survived.
with a chisel in his hands he will again arise
and sculpt the masterpiece, the rainbow revived.
The dawn is vermilion, started with the conch.
Farmers with their bulls and tinkling of bells
in green fields of paddy in waters ankle-deep.
Chatting over pitchers, noirettes at the wells.
When urns of frail clouds are broken by the winds,
the rainbow descends and paints the people bright.
Ah! the jungle-dance of the peacock begins,
heterogeneous hues converge to form white.
Dreams in eager eyes, blithe kites in the sky,
flying unhindered, yet the fate is chained
to dearth and poverty, the reel in unfit hands
who taint freedom's garb and justice is detained.
Still the dusk observes cheery men walking home
in dark the fensters glow not only with the lamp.
Vicissitude alone can never lower the masts
of courage that has not known ever to be damp.
A jewel it had been and a jewel it would be,
jewels may be robbed but the artisan survived.
with a chisel in his hands he will again arise
and sculpt the masterpiece, the rainbow revived.
~Neena