Sand Grain and a Water Drop

 

O thou cattle herder,

What forces thy migration?

‘Save life’ instigate

And thou become a wanderer:

Exiled like a sandy grain,

Flew which too high

And far with an ‘aye’!

Found not, but, rain!

Where ist thy family?

Sandy message they groan,

And thou quench thirst daily.

 

God made cattle for graze:

Easily, without haste,

Battered them, but, with dusty chaste,

Now, harvested stumps they erase,

Outsiders they feel,

Thus the hurried pace

In the land distant,

Abhors which, even, hot western brace,

Helpless, thou ponder over the emigrant's rent,–

Waterbodies too small;

Only the dried crofts for all.

 

How far have ye trodden?

Weight on thy feet

Looks if hoofs beat;

Heavy, wearied; seem broken,

Chin thou support on

The lathi standing faithfully along:

Cool companion thine,

Its fearful strike blown,

And they needn’t its shine,

For the animal energy gone,–

Weakly they swing horn.

 

Urge the rains!

With thy lips more parched;

Personify thy cattle’s soul nerd!

Pray which can’t, only feel the pains;

Join thy family chorus!

O herder, leave them not,

Needy cry can make Him porous,

Sand grains forming 'need dot',

'Rain here or there,'

We also await it like thee,

Single drop falling makest glee.