Clouds are rumbling, sky in a rage

On a lone bank I wait helpless

Toiling all-day in paddy field,

Piled the heaps of golden yield,

Flows the river rogue flooding the plain

While in harvest came heavy rain.

Sitting in a small farm, closed all ends,

All-over water playing in bends,

On opposite bank a tiny village,

Bask in a mystic shadow darkness,

Looks as a silhouette, dark and dank,

Me in a small farm, on this bank.

Humming a happy tune, rowing a canoe,

Who comes there? Think I know--!!!

Fixing gaze, he rows mad pace,

On his two sides at canoe edge –

Breaks the helpless frothing waves,

Can’t be a stranger -- pretty- known face!

Where you go Man? Which new shore?

Stop for a sec here if not more----

I offer you all these, please take it

And give it whoever you think fit

Just stopping the boat for a passing moment

Smiling, take my golden grains.

Please, load your boat from my rich store.

Asking more? I don’t have more.

On this lone bank, lived many days---

These are things I played and chased,

On your boat, I placed in a queue,

Now allow me come along, I beg you!

No room, No room boat is small,

Filled in my grains up to the hull,

Roams ominous pace, dense darkness,

Shravan-clouds at high up space,

Stand stranded I, on my own

The golden boat went leaving me lone.