I was passing by the hills,
by Sambidhan Acharya
Suddenly, I saw a reaper sing,
He was humbling a tone,
Anyone who could pass by.
I stopped in a lane to listen what he song,
I could hear a gentle voice with a folk tone,
Reaping and harvesting the crop he sang,
A note that could be clearly we can understand.
I then concentrated on his song,
The pain, the sorrow and cheer all of them could be clearly found,
As his sickle was bending while cutting crops,
His notes grew deeper and deeper in my heart.
My horse gave a hint to move and go,
But, instead I decided to listen all that his voice delivered,
I decided to hear the remaining notes too,
Which was as clear as the skylark’s tone?
As the end notes came near, I pulled my horse and stared,
His piercing numbers were breaking the silence of the wind,
He was singing the sung pure than the water,
He was telling the truth clear than from where the glass could be seen.
What I thought was the end of the song,
Was actually the beginning and he went on,
His folk were heard even more clearly,
But, I could not wait more, so, decided to move silently.
Few days later, I landed there again,
I wanted to hear his remaining note,
But could not find him nearby,
Still his songs were going through my ears when I passed by.