You may be a mere piece of wood

You are the one symbol of our labour

That raised its head

  in the ancient years of the earth

plough maybe your name

but you are that burning letter

which fell on the earth from the sky

abandoning the language of the stars

your touched roused

 the perfumes of dreams

sleeping in the earth

and dispersed them all over in the empty space –

Before you might

Knelt the woods, the hills, the rivers and the savannahs –

Drinking your sperm

Earth yielded in ecstatic joy

Large gifts of fruits hearths homes and poems –

Today in the final page of history

You have drawn the burning line across the mankind

Defining workers and idlers

Held out the promise of a new sun

To the working classes of the world –

Seshendra Sharma

http://seshendrasharma.weebly.com