A Snippet Of Thorp

Snipping paddy in greenish land,

Practicing the family business.

Culture runs on two sides of path,

Depicting social picture of village in traces.

Houses stand with no fixed plans,

With contorted paths they start and end.

In a cottage with fence or mire walls,

Stays the maiden with calloused scars.

Clear water of pond with stairs counted upon,

Vigilant heads stand in circles before dawn.

Early rise is never skeptical,

With too many talks lengthy path is summed up.

Basking in sun for all day long,

With flick movements the tiny toes run.

When ground reaches to level simmer,

Awaiting food,they run to please hunger.

Under the banyan tree the tales open,

Evening bell serves the prayer with choir of ten.

Tiny drops fall on the humid ground,

Swift winds carry the laughter around.

Smoke from burning charcoal hazes the dusk,

The fuss seems to fade with ticking clock.

Inside closed doors run traditions,

Sitting together all eat while mother waits for her turn.

Piling up dishes nears the end of tasks,

Waiting for milk, child reads the lessons under faded spark.

High on night dreams cloud upon,

Darkness speaks of silence and unison.

Culture may differ from country to country,

Still remains a proud speech to convey.

The very essence of traditions and customs,

Are held by village as unaltered wealth.