The road runs straight through the green,
as though someone drew a line
between the earth’s enduring past
and the uncertain dreams of tomorrow.
The river winds through the waiting land,
unhurried, ancient, and free.
Beneath the bridge, its waters murmur
of all that was, and what is yet to be.
On either side, the paddy fields stretch,
a thousand shades of living green,
each little plot a quiet promise,
each tender blade a farmer’s dream.
But who will see, beyond this beauty,
the labour hidden in every grain?
The bent back beneath the burning sun,
the muddy feet, the thirst, the rain?
Who will remember the hands that sow,
the patient eyes that watch the skies,
the sleepless nights when clouds refuse,
or the fear when floods arise?
Yet the world beyond these fields moves fast.
New roads emerge, new ambitions rise.
The young may leave for distant cities,
seeking fortunes beneath unfamiliar skies.
And who can blame them for wanting more,
for dreams must travel where they may?
But what becomes of the land they leave,
when the hands that know it turn away?
Will these green expanses still greet the dawn?
Will rivers run clear beneath bridges of stone?
Will the next generation inherit a living earth,
or beautiful fields that remember alone?
Perhaps the future is not a choice
between the plough and the rising town.
Perhaps true progress is learning to build
without laying our roots and our rivers down.
Let roads connect us, but not divide us.
Let prosperity grow, but leave the soil alive.
Let science lend the farmer its wisdom,
so that both the land and its people thrive.
And I stand here, watching the evening,
feeling something words can scarcely convey:
gratitude for the hands that nourish us,
and hope for the dawn that will follow this day.
For sunsets are never merely endings;
they are the earth’s gentle way to impart
that tomorrow is shaped by what we preserve today—
the soil beneath our feet, the water that sustains us,
and the farmer whose faith keeps the world alive.
May the river keep its freedom, the fields retain their green, and the hands that feed the world receive the dignity they deserve.
For when the last light fades from these fields, one truth remains:
The future does not begin in our cities alone. It begins in the soil, with a seed, a farmer, and the hope that what we sow today will nourish generations yet unborn.
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Very nice and uplifting