I wandered along the meandering path

through the golden wheat fields

ahead the temple of offerings and feasts

all seasoned by the surrounding wheat

the locals fermented it to become jolly

stories evolved of the grain a grieving

mother carried door to door praying

her son would be resurrected if she

could only find one household not

impacted by grief …

others engraved the fine grains

with tiny messages of love

this rich wheat area had hardships

but was filled with golden heads of love

some wove the ripened heads into

little symbolic bouquets

and by the rushing river a little mill

stood grinding that grain to make

paratha naan roti and other breads

a bountiful crop ensured a good year


d’Verse, wheat, Rosma – pinterest pic