He walked across the miles of time in endless pace,
Barefooted steps on thorny path towards the wall of life.
Where seems like shrapnel hit by sunlight beam,
On shoulders weigh the heaviest iron balls.
His only will to feed a hungry child. . .
Who heals the misery she bears for long?
She looks at husband’s bounty yield of grains
For every harvest dreamt of luck or fortune
Disgraced by truth that only pinch be left
‘cause all the rest will go to landlords home.
Not one nor two, nor six. . . not even ten,
But millions where in countrysides they live.
A crowded roof, no food to eat, not even clothes,
No lands to till; their future dwells in naked fields,
But owned the greatest share of country’s wealth.
Why thou forsake thy farmers’ right to decent lives,
Thou let them pay how ever big the nation’s debt?
Aware for facts their farm produced will only go
to other countries’ benefit; and most to shark elites
who manned the nation’s topsy-turvy politics!
What end shall be which caused by farmers fate?
Oppressed; deprived by sacred right . . . survived!
How soon will rise in fullest metal strength
if won’t you spare and give the share they meant?
Thy plow may turn in red and sticky mist of daybreak new. . .
by iam
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