Preview edition — Poet of Rain & Harvest is still in progress. The poem is as it appears in the video; the commentary is a working draft.
August, the month of harvest had arrived with abundance and fruitfulness of reaps to bear
Guests and Sowers of seasons marked this month of grains and rains to be worth harvesting and knew its impart on wealth
Amidst the golden wheats in a big farmland, stood a calm maverick, feeling the breeze, hands stretched out and eyes up to the skies
He loved the beats of rain on the grains he gained
The vision and crop divisions had grew and fully sprouted
Whilst others stuck to routine of farming, he challenged himself to seek innovation, pushed boundaries and sharpen his plough
Sometimes the maverick lays his hands on the wet soil to feel its welcoming effect, its course and coarse
For he cared deeply for this soil, which nurtured and nourished the crops to thrive protecting the seeds and fulfilling every need
Whether sunshine or rainstorm even in the tares, tears and withers
it kept the good to last longer and gave huge yields altogether
In the vineyard, he was an admirer of nature and wondered how the rains, contrast and resolute the colors of fruits
He also set scarecrows and traps amongst the corns to counterattack flying predators and best any pests
He's thankful for the rains above and upholds a good friendship with the rich earth at breadth
With his sickle and truck full of harvested goods to sustain and give for the summer
He drove in the evening tiredly toward home with earnestly hoping for another learning, yearning and earning season
Poet of Rain & Harvest · Hear it on the channel ↗
Commentary
This poem is a portrait of a farmer who refuses to farm the way everyone else does. A calm maverick works August’s harvest with open hands, curious eyes and a plough that is always being sharpened.
August has arrived “with abundance and fruitfulness of reaps to bear.” Among “the golden wheats in a big farmland” stands “a calm maverick, feeling the breeze, hands stretched out and eyes up to the skies,” who “loved the beats of rain on the grains he gained.”
While others stay with routine, he “challenged himself to seek innovation, pushed boundaries and sharpen his plough.” He lays his hands on “the wet soil,” cares for it, and trusts it to nurture the crops “whether sunshine or rainstorm.”
In the vineyard he admires nature, sets “scarecrows and traps” against pests, and gives thanks “for the rains above.” The poem ends as he drives home “tiredly” with a truck of harvested goods, “earnestly hoping for another learning, yearning and earning season.”