A Farmer. Poem by U Win Kyi

A farmer goes to paddy field
with his buffalos accompany,
to work with full energy,
as the chirping birds
wake up to catch
the early worms
at the dawn.

He works in cold winter,
so chilling that his teeth chatter.
He works under the hot sun
until his skin get tanned and burned.
He works in the rain
until his strength drains.

He returns home at dusk
as the flying birds rush
to their nests
for a night-rest.

His hands
so hardened,
so callous,
so rough.
His skin
not smooth and thin,
but with deep wrinkles,
without cosmetic skin care.

Before sleep, he prays for a good harvest,
not destroyed by the pest,
not damaged by the weather, so bad.
For poor people to have enough rice,
he asks for a fair price,
not slashed by exploiter,
not manipulated by hoarder.