Classic Poem

In the north, along Venkatam Mountain, where they used to drink
their toddy and slice entire cuts of meat into pieces for eating
and joyfully welcome what they received, singing the praises
of the great wealth of paddy raised with plowing oxen and piled up
in stacks that towered so high they scraped the sky as if forming
some mountain where the cool drops of rain spill down
from roaring clouds, everyone goes hungry now and so my family,
large and burned dark under the sun, has come here and here they still
remain in this fine city whose ancient clans are of such worth
that we never think of leaving, since you ask. . . . . . . . . .
Aware of me, those wise men who understand you spoke to you,
saying “This is the same man who came here once before. He is poor
and he is a musician still worth your pity!” And so I have come,
to see you, greatness! you who reside in your opulent mansion
surrounded by your flourishing mastwood trees, where a crane
with its tight-packed feathers eats the fish that enter
the dark waters of a vast tidal pool and then goes to sleep. May it be
that you sleep sweetly at home, with your beloved whose heart is full
with love for you! And as the rain drops drift down, knowing
the right time to nourish the crops,
may your thousands of velis of fields offer their rich harvest!