With the smell of clay
And taste of sweat, he toils.
When his spade scoops a piece of earth’
It sends shudders through my nerves,
But the next moment I wish
To take a spade and scoop.
He sows, manures, waters,
Removes the weeds out:
All not in the same day
But slowly, intermittently.
He keeps his nerves when
A tiny worm makes designs
On the tender twigs,
When a deadly fly sucks out
The blood of juicy boughs
And alas! One day, when a mad wind
Uprooted his child like plants.
There are lines of pain on his forehead
Hidden by the trickling sweat
But cool is he like a breeze,
Kind is he like a mother cow;
When the first flower blooms
Blissful is he like the God!
a nice tribute for the farmers..i admire those persons...nice verses for them great write and kudos for you..if you are one... Ency Bearis
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Beautiful poem on the toil of a farmer He keeps his nerves when A tiny worm makes designs On the tender twigs, When a deadly fly sucks out The blood of juicy boughs Beautiful lines regards sandhya