We had gone in a mudtrack
Between the fields sporting
Paddy shoots in fresh slush.
Women feet were sure there.
There was rain on the night.

Women might have been there.
Their tongues might have rung
Like fevered bells in mouths
Singing their sowing songs.

Songs might have gone sad,
When skies were soon empty.
There was not enough slush
To go around for the paddy,
With common legs drowned
Not even up to their ankles.


About nisheedhi

Retired banker with poetry and photography as chief interests
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