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Akash Karmakar

Abstract Classics Others


3  

Akash Karmakar

Abstract Classics Others


Farmer

Farmer

1 min 212 1 min 212

They've been struggling since the birth of the earth; But

Their earth rotates around their land

Plough becomes their axis

Each and every seed knows the smell of soil

Soil also knows the taste of seeds

Full of perspiration, dawn to dusk


They may not know the alphabet

But they know the language of feeding us.

They know the pain of empty stomach

They know the method of hanging

They know the burden of debt

But they're always ready to serve the best.

They may not be our dearest

But what'll happen if they take a rest!


We don't remember them at all

Even a thank is beyond our imagination.

Every single day we get news of suicide

Don't you think it's kind of a murder?

But we don't need to pay heed to this.

No movement, no candle march, no consolation

India turns it into its habit

Handful of rice...No credit, no debit.


When the back against the wall

They assemble,

Plough becomes nothing sort of a weapon

Not to kill but to revolt.

They have words but they can't utter

If they break the rule

They become traitor from farmer.

An art of spreading love is farming,

Full of stomach needs no pharming. 


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