The making of cow dung fuel is an art, and
Fifty years back, it was available source for every
Household to light oven for cooking food.
It is handmade cow-dung cakes for those who have earthen oven
Fifty years back, it was available source for every
Household to light oven for cooking food.
It is handmade cow-dung cakes for those who have earthen oven
She walks with cow dung paste in a bamboo
container,
And sits beside her husband who is
sitting in the sun,
They are in good family bonds, a
neighbor of my own.
She makes dough of small quantity of cow
dung paste,
And hands over it to her husband who, in
turn, makes
Flat cakes by thrusting it with one palm
on ground,
And the shape of his palm is embossed on
the flat fuel.
They are cultivators and original
inhabitants of locality,
They work hard for their house hold
needs, in companion.
They work together in own paddy field,
he tilts the earth,
With cows’ help and she puts paddy
saplings in the mud,
They grow paddy, to have rice for their
own, not to sell.
This is a real family in my shadow of
love search,
They call me as the man of gentleman
fetish, clerical montage,
They have own wish, and keep balance of
love themselves.
They feel love in their esteemed valor
they generate own,
And I find they do not make fancies with
reality, all loving,
Their hands are holding themselves,
close all the time.
In festive seasons, they hold their
hands, and
Dance in tune of beating of drums,
Whose sound floats in the surrounding area,
they live in.
They need no wall to post their emotions
to express feelings,
And transmit this walking for sharing with
others friends,
Either near or far away, a post card is
enough, now cell phones.
Sitting near window on the love search
and love hope,
I see them walking, drawing water from ground
well, together,
They bear no burden to carry paddy straw
to shred these in pieces,
And give these to cows, tied in pole in
their mud courtyard, where
They also cook food in the ground
earthen oven with cow dung fuel,
And with firewood that comes from tree branches
broken by storm.
They feel love in the morning,
They feel love in the evening,
They feel love in the night.
I am very happy to see their happy
moments they sit idle
Under shadow of mango tree in summer
season, in their garden,
Talking, smiling, and singing within
each other’s bosom, sublime.
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