In the heart of fields where the harvests sways,

Bazaars sing in their old-age ways,

Whispers from the cities drift from breeze,

Bringing dreams to small town trees.

Bazaars once lit by the morning sun,

Now trade in currencies, one and many,

Jobs bloom where once soil was sown,

And ambitions grow where the seeds are thrown.

From handwoven crafts to factory lights,

Traditional to modernity, dances through the night,

New roads stretching like veins of change,

Linking fields, to the skyline strange.

In the hum of process, old voices stay,

Guiding tomorrow through yesterday’s way!

-Divya Sonigra