Indian Village Poem by praneeth remidi

Apprehensive music reached my ear
I could quit the door and soon roam there
Moving the rocky crowd I stood there
In front of a sieved hut I saw her

May she had an endless song
With her pair or brother or son or some
Hand and head with each other
Says that there are none to her

Through her dried and turbid throat
She winds up words and rhyme about
Moribund music from shivering strings
Turns out of her trembling heart

Her grown trees are green for ever
But her plants are always brown and brown
Wet with hunger from hours and hours
She curses Him in hate and honor

What a music it made! It made
Funny kids and crippled old think
What a music it Played! It proved
The young are frivolous and greedy.