The Old Man Farmer

The old man farmer went to the field
Carrying a plough on his left drooping shoulder
A stick in his frail right hand he held
Driving two lean sad looking beasts

The man of burdens and beasts of burden
Will toil hard through the scorching day
Scratching the back of the dusty red earth
Over which clouds never passed for months

The gods may now deign to send little rain
For which the farmer had earnestly asked
Offering prayers and flowers, even a kid
To please the gods in eternal bliss

His faith and hope are seen on his face
He will soon now plough up the field
And patiently wait for the water to fall
To scatter the seeds in the rugged red field

Again this season the gods took his flowers
They took the kid but didn’t take his prayers
Gods could be harsh for no just reasons
Still the old man will pray offering flowers

The old man farmer sat in grave silence
Into his sad soul, he was withdrawn
The lone lovely thought again came to his mind
He yearned for the touch of his long dead wife

He sat there staring at something or nothing
His warm tears fell bathing the ground
Time and toil had furrowed his face
As if he had ploughed his own long face

The next morn he saw the black clouds gather
Some drops fell making dents in the dust
Then it was gone, blown by the wind
The gods raised his hope to dash it again

What to do now, the rain season gone!
He looked at his black pot that was empty
He saw the depleted grain-sac in the corner
And sent up a sigh into the hearts of the gods