Standing in the Fields

Standing in the fields my father tilled
At sunset, I can hear the peacocks cry.
We're far away from the city, from civilization
But it always feels more human here.

The earth is rich beneath my feet
It carries the seeds that will feed our children
As well as the bones of those that came before us
My father always says he wants to be buried here.
I look at the fields and wonder where he would be most
peaceful
Under the shade of the Pride of India,
Or by the banks of the canal
Where the village boys learned to swim?

Here on the land
Is where we Muslims learn a new religion
That accommodates the vagaries of reincarnation.
The patterns of autumn sowing, spring reaping
And summer harvest have leached into our blood
We are the generations that draw strength
From the rhythms of fields that grow quietly in the
night.

Like trees, we spring from the ground
We go into the cities and live an urban life
But we can't leave this land. God says we were all
created from clay,
But we seem to be the only ones who remember it.
The rest of the world wants to grow wings and fly
We only want to grow roots deep within the soil,
Where we belong.

The sun has begun to set
And the peacock’s cry falls softer,
Reminding me that all things must end,
Including the lives of those who thought they were
inviolate.
The land will live longer than its masters
The water will flow long after we have all been washed
away.