Darkness of this cold night,
Half burning sun, waiting to make everything bright...
Shy moon, fading from sight..
Covered in fog,like a bride of first night...
Cold wind gushing into the valley..
The singing bird are on their rally..
Vehicles on the full throttle..
Blushing faces roadside with their bottles..
Old lady with her daily chores,
Small Rangoli on their wooden doors...
Faces covered and bending backs...
Those pretty eyes of smiling babies in their shacks...
Grazing animals and their ringing bell..
Like they want to talk, much to tell..
The burning stoves and The dusty street...
The smoke hugging the foggy sheet...
Womens washing their utensils in the flowing stream...
Loud Nickering horses and hens scream...
Fazr in the Mosque,..
The chores in the temple,
And the blend of them,
Links the parts fragmental...
Now the sun is shining bright...
The call for school and the morning fight...
The Radio, The Hookah of the grumpy Old man,
The dewy meadows, tillers began..
Ths smell of dung cakes and the mud,
Honeybees started their day to find the sweetest bud..
And smiley soulful jaihind from the small kid..
The morning of a village is so charming, so avid...
Shubham Gupta
Asst Commandant
208 CoBRA, CRPF
