Wednesday, April 22, 2015

My Khayey Poem

From Google


This poem is purely the product of my personal experience of remote-kind of hard, but easy-comfort and free life! The countryside was it! How I spent nights chasing animals from the field crops. And at last, in the end, animals and I would be friends in the night. Animals like deer, when I make noises are saved from the tiger.

Khayey (Sharchopa Term): Stilt hut; a tall hut made up of bits and parts of woods, poles, leaves, etc, and usually made as a house for guarding farmlands.





It’s hard
Hard in the rains or shines
But it’s free
It’s demanding
Calculating the yields and the meals
But it’s carefree.

A Khayey is a thatched banana leaves
In which, through perforated leaves see the moon
Moon is the king in the night
Like wild animals are.

The Khayey itself is all naturally built;
Tall poles, little poles, leaf of verities
In this nature, a human as I stand;
With an insipid fire burning near my bed.

My maize plants surround the Khayey
The tall and tilting, swings gently
Sometimes waves are just under my feet
Who protects?

Anyways, the fresh evening breeze keeps fresh
I can hear every tiny sound
The sound of all insects and creatures…
The sound of cuckoo…
The chatting of birds…
The sound of animals rushing beside the farmland
It’s their world.

Slowly the sound dies
But my friends come into life
Not bothering whose crops they are destroying;
What I have?
What they have?
I shout, throw stones piled beside my head
My guests sprint down for a minute or two.

But soon,
Alas! Loud roars roar the deep valley of the forest
making different sounds
There is commotion
‘My deer,’ I cried
And the only way to help them from the prey
Is just to shout continuously
I expect some of them to come near my Khayey
And take refugee.
But it is a two-way blockage
It is an easy trap for a tiger
And he would never leave having one
There is a painful cry of deer for many minutes,
As he drags down the valley.

Oh dear, it is painful to have my favorite orange deer
(I saw her the previous evening)
And I believe it’s all because of me
To have chased away from my field
As she came here for the refugee
If she has been a refugee here
Then where is my refugee place?
The sinking thought answer silently in the night.


1 comment:

  1. The poem really had touched my inner heart so well. Keep posting so that i can get chance to experience my differently...thanks

    ReplyDelete