When some whole families are jobbing
into a bank, office or hospital,
the sons of farmers
frivol away with politicians
to strengthen a party
and their life to weaken.
The wives of poor farmers
labouring under the hot Sun
lose their florid face.
The farmers of rain-starved regions
fall on evil days
when darker clouds fail to
get burst over their fields.
Rising in the early morn
they hurried to far-off places
to seek some work.
Till they are back at midnight,
with some savoury packets
their school going children wait unfed
like the fledglings in nests
waiting for their parents.
Borrowing from the rich farmers,
they send their boys to colleges.
Heaping praises over those village bosses
their tongues become worn out;
yet they obey their commands
and do mean tasks for loans
saying their boys are dullards
and after three-four years,
they will be back to toil in fields.
The Village Officers don’t live there
to help the illiterate farmers
with schemes and loans of the Government.
The Coffers of the Banks
scoff at them without the help of bigwigs.
But the funds flow to money lenders
who are busy in rural towns.
When the Government ensures no job
to a single member of a family,
which lost it’s crops to pests
or had tears bringing untilled lands
the pang of suicide has a peck at them.
They can’t beg or lick
at the palms of newly sprung up rich.
When some families die,
the Government fails to care
but the land shivers here and there.
If their tears not stopped soon,
the whole earth will be reduced to rubble.