Farmers are the god of this soil
Which is the soul of this world
Every supper we have is from his toil
His shabby hands are working
without bothering hot and cold
He never wore slippers to his feet
Only Thrones know how it bleeds
He ploughed up the fields to sow
scattering the seeds in a row
To see this beauty the Gale is blowing
With lots of dreams in his eyes
He waited in meadows for raining
Months passed he was still waiting
Dignity and pride was the only
thing never Sold
None owes money
This world is cold and callous
He never forgot to feed us
Meanwhile his family had no food
but empty vessels
He is torn and his body is worn
The greeny fertile land is barren
He was standing alone under
a tree in growling gust
With shriveling skin
and shivering hands
he holds the rope without guts
He worried for the tree
which has no leafs
Now clinging there as a wrinkled leaf
And the sky cried to mend
his tears from his closed eyes
He always wants to live in peace
But never rested in peace
Farmers don't give up their land
but they give themselves to this abundant sand...
©priya1910
M