The Kerala Bullock Cart: A Sweet Memory

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A weathered cart, of stout wood, built to last and roam,

Through emerald fields of Kerala, a journey to bring home.
With creaking wheels and axles old, a rhythmic, gentle beat,
A story whispered, brave and bold, in sun-kissed, country heat.

The oxen, strong and dark, their patient hooves now tread,
With small bells chiming softly, a melody widespread.
A silver tinkle, light and clear, on humid, fragrant air,
As through the village lanes they steer, beyond all worldly care.

Piled high with goods, from sacks of gleaming rice,
And fresh-picked vegetables, at a humble, honest price.
Sometimes a moving market, slow and steady pace,
Bringing life's essentials to every rural place.

Or gaily decked for joy, a banner brightly unfurled,
Announcing films from old cinema, to reach the eager world.
Sometimes a carriage grand, for a newly wedded pair,
With jasmine garlands swaying, sweet love hung in the air.

Beneath the cart, a shadow swings, as day begins to fade,
A small kerosene lantern, gently lit, a warm, inviting shade.
Its golden glow on dust and dew, a beacon for the way,
Guiding the driver, strong and true, until the close of day.

A canvas stretched of vibrant green, where coconut fronds sway,
The driver sits, a patient, watchful hand, come what may.
Guiding the cart across the land, where paddy fields lie vast,
A testament to lives of toil, a memory forever cast.

From sun-drenched morn to starlit, quiet night,
The cart would journey on, bathed in the lantern's light.
The oxen pull with steady pace, through pathways old and worn,
A timeless image, full of grace, from evening's gentle born.

The cart it creaks, a gentle, familiar sound,
As farmers work the fertile ground, where harvest waits around.
A simple life, a peaceful, tranquil scene,
A timeless moment, ever fresh, eternally green.

Through changing seasons, rain to sun, its journey still renowned,
A memory etched, beneath the tropic moon, upon the hallowed ground.
A bond so strong, between the beast and man,
The Kerala Bullock Cart, a part of time's enduring plan.

Now a rare sight, a whisper from the past's soft gleam,
This enduring cart, an old, sweet, cherished dream.
The silent understanding, shared in sun and rain,
Between human hand and loyal heart, eased every toil and pain.

And as the day is done, beneath the setting, golden sun,
The oxen rest, their honest labor done.
The cart stands still, near shaded hut, upon a gentle rise,
A peaceful dream, reflected in the firefly's soft eyes.

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