Delhi Air Quality - Stubble Burning And The North Westerly Wind Poem by Bernedita Rosinha Pinto

And this is what Stubble Fire thus spoke:

I am the fire that burns annually in those meadows
where dry grass has found its shadows;

I am the smoke that rises and billows
over those skies and clouds like little cigarillos;

I have no limits or boundaries as I burn and blow
from that grass after the crops that the farmers grow;

I have to provide the farmers their field for livelihood
as they have to also feed other people their nutrition and food;

I am the stubble that burns all night
as I am the dry grass that has no worth nor right;

I have to vanish and let new crops get sowed
as the land of providence is only then mowed;

I am the passing breeze of smoke and haze,
tomorrow there will be new seedlings of many crops and maze;

I am blamed for the air pollution by you
but as a dry grass I have to be cleared by you;

I am the stubble that has to be burnt
and I don't know how and who can stop your grunt;

I am the rising smoke that burns in the fields,
no law has been able to stop me after those crops and yields;

I am the fire that empowers the prosperity of the farmers
as crop-rotation fills up all their silos and grain chambers;

I apologize to you sincerely for all that smoke and its risks
but it is the activity that makes the farmers so brisk;

I have been here as a fire from that stubble burning,
as agriculture has been the culture of farmers and farming;

I have no control over the smoke or the flames,
it is not me but it is the North Westerly wind you have to blame.