| |
Sitting in her torn draped old cotton sari,
In front of her thatched roof hut tired and weary,
Watching those trees accompanying from her vivid memories,
She often narrated stories of ghosts from one of those haunted trees,
To release the ghosts by reason and rationale to set them free,
That is the Grand Ma symbol of village verity;
She had mastered the goods of the jungle roots,
Used those to heal the fractured wounds,
She knew the reason of the depressed moods,
Charming them with her stories of gals and goons,
That is the Grand Ma symbol of village sensibility;
She lived in the village far away in the mountain plains,
Providing her various nati (home made) medical solutions,
All those rich and poor came to her during times of pain,
She cured one and all with soothing embrace all the same,
That is the Grand Ma symbol of village ingenuity;
She had never seen school, books nor a teacher,
She possessed all the acumen of a village school master
Learning through the years in the village dust and sun,
Her insight into life put to shame most learned men
That is Grand Ma the symbol of village humility;
She knew no education is worth if not useful to humanity
But she failed to express those in the modern words of literary utility
She pondered everyday to find the nuances of modern philosophy
Whatever she tried found the answer only leading to profitability
That is Grand Ma the symbol of village dexterity;
Vidyadhar ...
|
|
User Rating: |
|
8.3
/10
(7 votes) |
|
|
|
E-mail this poem to e friend