The warmth of their straw borne off by icy winds,
time and again the peasants wake the fire
whose flame dies ever back, stirring with their sticks.
From the smoking bank of mustard chaff,
noisy with the crackling of the husks,
a penetrating odor spreads
to every corner of the threshing floor.
(trans Daniel H. H. Ingalls)
Source: Sanskrit Poetry from Vidyakara's Treasury
time and again the peasants wake the fire
whose flame dies ever back, stirring with their sticks.
From the smoking bank of mustard chaff,
noisy with the crackling of the husks,
a penetrating odor spreads
to every corner of the threshing floor.
(trans Daniel H. H. Ingalls)
Source: Sanskrit Poetry from Vidyakara's Treasury
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