Agrarian Song

At the edge of a feeder-canal
the ghosts of mee trees felled long ago stood
and as though nudged by an andaheraya
remembered by one and all at once
released rustling melodies
which duly reincarnated
as bleeding fingertips;
delicately lifted the paddy field
rolled it all the way to the tree line
heaved up upon a collective shoulder
and to the heartbeat of a resilient land
marched straight into the pages of tomorrow —
such things are possible on wind-shredded mornings
bringing news of resurrected optimism.