Your feet and calves and chapped hands
Are matted with mud and grass-caked;
You work silently, your head down
Like a contemplative deer feeding
On wild grass after months of rain;
You do not notice if evening has come.
You’ve ignored the intermittent rains
And after the showers, this dark sunlight;
Your green anchal trails you in the field
Till the paddy is greener through its touch;
Your face is lost in the flowing hair
Darker than the stormy eastern skies;
The wind clears its throat in the woods.
Even the rain seems ready to sing.
The clouds linger like curious passerby.
Only me and a lone grazing cow
Watch you silently, wordlessly.
I am lost in your quiet beauty.
I have no need of any poems.
My silence is swelling in your praise.