As I Dreamt A Dream At Corn-Fields Poem by Pijush Biswas

Three years have past, again I'm at corn-fields.
Became fresh and free my mind,
Touched my heart the air gentle and mild.
Now vital the thoughts, once blind.
Awoke I from dull dream; and the greenery
Poured in me poetic fancy, her finery.

Full of thoughts my head, and heavy
Suddenly, upon their duties my eyes.
The bringers of germination, new beauty.
Had I praised their activities, and a surprise-
How fine their hands work!
Oh! how little they paid!

Who will feed the human beings?
Forever, if they sit with hands enclosed,
If we deny them, if we display ant's wings.
Yea, our heart should always be disclosed;
Let them be dreamy more, at place lofty.
Look! at them, the worshippers of beauty.

How nice the lands, their artistry!
Friends they are, ours prime need.
God's unique creation they are, their ancestry
Plantation their mere vow, and to feed.
Adversity they overcome, tolerable of storm and rain
Stolid at aim, in further pain.

It pains my sense, whene'er I think-
Do they remain for us for ever and ever?
Though yet their eyes blink.
The God must give them long-lives and favour
I hope; I hope His blessing upon their creativity.
Fruitful will the Earth be, full of beauty.

I was walking along a mustard field
A serpant at a sudden at my eyes
'Bap Re Bap' brake the dream there built.
I saw it chasing a mouse-
As if, shattered my dreamy thoughts.
At once, to ears attached a note sweet.

He was singing the song full-mouth'd
My feet towards him-
The North wind it's bearer, bearing to the South.
Mirthful he was, mirth his song's theme.
He was reaping weeds with a sickle, bending.
Oh, so sweet the song at it's ending!

Now, the Sun 'mid the sky
They are under sylva, at a repose
Thinking of profit or loss, breathing a sigh
Or determining themselves at next purpose.
The Sun, scorching, and they are on way to home
Clouds gather in the North-East, making a dome.

Newly mustard plants, nodding their heads
Yellow and multiple they are in colour
Laying they are, as if, on cultivators' beds.
Charmed I'm with the odour.
Seem'd it, the time their to sleep
Reckless the wind is, and cloudy the sky deep.