We sowed our seeds
During the same auspicious season;
You went in for genetically modified methods.
I tilled the land with spontaneous ease
Ever wedded to the conventional lease.
The yields were enormously distinct.
There were thunderous uproars on your side.
Contrary to a scene of poise on mine.
My subdued harvest harnessed
A stock for the next season.
My soil serially became the lap of luxury.
The successive sterile voices were
The echoes of your granary's void.
You were artificially unearthed.
The soil knows what it receives.
The sanctity of the soil is seen
In its acceptance of the matching seed.
With the soul of the soil in its yield,
The harvest is not just a heap.
It is the halo of harmony between
The soil and the seed.
The energy of the yield can not be engineered.
It is a happening in the hands of Nature.
P.Chandrasekaran.
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