Poetry As Mud-Built, Straw-Thatched Houses And Life Seen Against Such A Backdrop Poem by Bijay Kant Dubey

Poetry as the mud houses thatched with straw,
Roofed with the bamboos,
I can see them making,
Striking the idea, getting at,
Thinking out the plan of work and its execution.

The small-small mud-built, straw-thatched houses
With the small windows,
Dotting the solitary landscape,
A handful of forming the hamlet, the thorp,
Thinly populated, manless and dark.

Poetry as a scenery of the common folks,
The hamlet men and the ancestors,
Living in the dark and nondescript hamlets and thorps
Simply and namelessly,
Struggling, labouring hard to survive.

Faith, blind faith holding them,
Destiny, fate and lot foretelling the things,
The oil lamps too not lighting the areas,
Just the glow worms and starry twinkles
Engaging the solitary space with pulsating in its way.