Plough Poem by Suhel Akram

The fields down in the valley,
Covered with sight just dreamy,
Referring a story to bed,
Just before the sleep,
With grandmother or grand dad,

There is dust on every drop,
Shed through the sun ball,
With a shining back and rough skin,
Plough deep and rubbing on land,
Is a farmer tall, dark and bent.

Going on hard with shadow short,
Just down his feet,
in the mud creamy and stilt,
Trying out best with hungry pains,
Yet to turn down the land,
He is standing on still,
To clay perfect and fertile.

A soft paste to flow through,
When out is over the dig,
And plough blades to rest,
And he standing out in the corner,
Looking and smiling at,
The land ready and ploughed,

Returns home is he happy,
To make the plough over,
Ready the grabbles to mud,
Prepare is the bed for the grains,
Grow up thick and green,
Come out golden when in harvest,
And a nation to be fed on