When the whole families of some
are jobbing in banks and offices,
the sons of farmers
frivol away with politicians
seeking a job.
The womenfolk of farmers
labour all the day in fields
lose their florid face
and roam as skeletons
They fall on evil days
if the darker clouds fail to burst.
Rising in the early morn,
they hurry to places far off,
seeking work in the earth.
Till they be back at midnight,
with some savoury packets,
their children wait unfed
like the fledglings in nests
with sorrow-laden faces.
Heaping praises on the rich
they borrow loans to send their sons
to colleges which they haven’t seen.
They obey the orders of the affluent,
speak of their own bright sons as dull ones
to be assured of their favours.
The coffers of the banks
scoff at them to open
unless some bigwigs give signal.
But the money lenders open the coffers
and do business in rural towns.
If anyone of the family is not in a job
the pang of suicide has a peck at them.
They don’t beg or lick
the palms of newly sprung up rich.
When some families die,
the Govt. fail to care
and the land shivers here and there.
You stop not their tears
and the nation will be reduced to a rubble.
Suicide Of Farmers
