Monsoonal Moment

Like soldiers in a battle, we march to the field, Armed with tools, our hopes for better yield. We plow the land and sow the seeds of growth, Preserving our culture with a song and oath. Neither scorching sun nor pounding rain can stop, We work tirelessly, forgetting to take a break or stop. And as the sun sets, signaling the end of day, We retire to our humble homes, tired and spent like clay But even in our exhaustion, there's a sense of pride, Knowing we toiled hard and gave it our best stride. For the harvest we reap will sustain us for a while, And the sweat we shed will be worth the toil. And though the work is tough and the days are long, We find solace in the rhythm of our simple song. For in the fields, under the sun and sky so blue, We find a sense of purpose, a sense of being true.