|***pic from the net|
Oh, those bright harvest heaps
weave a magic for everyone,
The yield- bright as the blazing sun
wafts into the slopes down and
unleashes strange activities;
The birds spread their wings joyfully, scatterrrrrr
Stirring ripples across the brooding summer sky.
The flying squirrels creep out of their caves
launch into the air with the birds swooping,
plunging over the red-hot chillies….
The composed farmer in crumpled dhoti-kurta
‘chilling’ on the made-in-India truck,
Enjoys the fierce flame-dance all around him….
He is a gifted Indian!
A farmer who carries his plough like a crucifix
To fatten the howling mouths in the human spirit.
How easily those experienced eyes fathom
the moods of sky, season and rivers to cultivate the pearls,
Every year this man travels in a cloud of roasted chilli peppers,
To sell, and raise money to pay for the next years’ agronomics.
Twisting and turning and wriggling like a snake, his cart moves
into slithering lengths; yet.....his children go hungry.
I falter for a moment,
lick the salt of tears on my lips.
Is this 'the galloping india' we see today?
With booming Sensex, GDP growth in the comity of nations!
In ten years, they say we're going to be a super power.
But with this menace! ...I recoil from such a vision.
The details are beyond my perception.
His wheels slow down…it's been a long day,
He longs to go gentle into his restful night….
Farmer’s suicide issue is a burning one in India. Opposition parties always severely criticize the party in power, whosoever it is, on this issue.
For Sumana's Gift.