Beneath The Sun Poem by ashok jadhav

Before the dawn, they leave their homes,
With weary feet and aching hands;
The fields stretch wide, the labor long,
Yet none will mark their quiet stands.
The sun beats down on tender backs,
The rain may soak, the winds may tear;
Still, step by step, they face the day,
With hope that lingers in the air.
Their children play on dusty streets,
With rags for toys and dreams for gold;
They learn that life is harsh and plain,
Yet courage blooms where hearts are bold.
The mother kneads her simple bread,
Her eyes reflect both fear and care;
She smiles through hunger, pain, and toil,
And hums her weary evening prayer.
At night they rest beneath the stars,
No silver roofs, no velvet beds;
Yet in their souls a quiet pride,
A strength the world cannot misread.
For though the poor may bear the weight
Of life's unyielding, ruthless hand,
Their dignity, their steadfast hearts,
Shine brighter than the wealth of man.