I walk to the cropping field every day
Its grasses, creepers, crops, and clay-land are my dear ones.
It smells fragrant in my breathing,
It waves in my
Blood, veins, and sub-veins.
I retire from the smoky song with a rhyming note.
I move forward through buds of crops to build a safe food fabric.
I let out a sigh with tears.
I take a bath with sweat.
Sometimes, my forehead lines are flooded by the floods!
The morning star before the sun rises
And the evening star before the sun sets–they
Make my stay on earth pleasant.
Each season is the spring of my daily toil.
