Between the farmlands

there is a low walled green field –


with the peasant graves.

She glides past vendors of fried food as her bare feet skid across the muddy gravel. The pain of the gliding thread left behind with her shoes. A toothy grin and a joyous laugh switch phases like a sound wave as her eyes follow the kite carrying all her dreams.

There was a village
Called Ludnica in maps
Quite old and vintage
The population reached 100 at max

It was known far and wide
For it's weird rules
Everyone had to abide
And dress like white ghouls

Half of them were blacksmiths
Working day and night
Others had to submit
And were to be polite

Every once in a while
Another black sheep would appear
Some even hostile
Not understanding why they were there

Then the blacksmiths' work would restart
They chipped away the metal chains
Reshaped the mind part by part
Untill the sickness didn't remain

"Where was this Ludnica?"
You might ask
But don't search for it
Because it will find you at last

Village life, now not the same
Where the relationship is, it's not sweet
Where there is soil but no fragrance
Where there is a pond, but no water
Where mangoes are showered, but do not smell fragrant
Village life, now not the same
Here people are done
People got hungry for happiness
Villages are now transformed into cities
The villages are now dazzled
In the blessings of the elderly
Which was a feeling of affection
In western culture, somewhere gone extinct
Feeling of celebrating together
Burned in a furnace like separation time
Village life, now not the same
Where does man have time to meet man
Humanity and brotherhood lost in urbanization
The intoxication of modernism engulfed everyone
Love that was deceit, it became a show
Every person escapes for money
The house of faith is now a ruin
Village life, now not the same......

If God was your neighbour in a village,
you would have exchanged pleasantries,
would have know by the look in his face whether he had lunch or not. His eyes would have told you if he needed a shoulder to cry. In the city in a flat if he was your neighbour would have met him in the corridor or lift occasionally giving and receiving a meaningless smile. If that's gods story just imagine the rest.

To love, raise and support
It takes

To cry, teach and praise
It takes

To laugh, learn and grow
It takes

To be free, survive and thrive

It takes....