Growing up in a farm
is rolling in sticky, soft, sensuous, mud
and imbibing
wisdom of nature
beyond words,
a preternatural ritual;
a farm has full of voices
heard and unheard
but mind has ears that record
and replay to one's soul,
i am still at a loss to explain
how it works,
it's another unuttered secret of life.

change in the  tune of rain,
cloud formation, wind speed
and flow of water;
each has distinct meaning
translated to changes in one's life.
more than counted as  rich or poor
plenty of things that make every moment,
enjoyable were the crux of happiness in the farm life.

plants grew whispering secrets
bore fruits and after a period,  died out,
in between one observes
waves that rise and fall
cycles of nature.
that's how, i suppose
i had a ripened sense
of complexities of life, fairly early,
it brought one pain too.

Growing up in a farmstead
is like playing an orchestra of many pieces, all alone
sitting in the lap of mother nature.

i never viewed my father as a  farmer
i saw him sitting on a chair reading Homer
or discussing Tolstoy or Shakespeare
as much as he cared for his crops,
he  really was a student of mother nature
farming was his way of life.
a magician who transformed,
complexities he observed in nature
in to practical possibilities.
"a true farmer is a versatile genius."
i remember those words,
he told us  in a voice of what seemed,
coming from the  elements of nature:
"we are all basically farmers, never forget
and above that human beings"

we grew up with cattle, chicken and farm animals
i was just a child, then, i thought i didn't fully get
what he meant, but later my dad's truth
slowly revealed itself to us,
unfolding through days and nights of our lives.

crop of rice fully ripened was a lovely sight
and the banana plantation, cornucopia
that made heart a peacock that sees dark clouds.
when pepper vines laden with red berries
turned black gold,
walking along the vegetable patches,
i felt what it was to be a farmer.
in  the attic, full of dry ginger bags , air was an intoxicant,
milking cows and grazing farm animals
taught a rare kinship with all life.

when poverty looked with deep set eyes
from fields and pathways to  farms
i understood the spirit of my father's words;
why one should be a human  first.
men and woman and malnourished children
working half naked in splashing, scorching sun,
reaped rice to the accompaniment of songs.
i too used to sing those songs,
and remembered those words
my father wanted us to remember;
i am a farmer,
a child of nature
but a human first
who feels the pain
of those who toil for a living.
O