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.