Surviving Poem by Anil Kumar Panda

As the evening falls
And the returning birds
Look at us suspiciously
Me and my father
Gather the tools
Spades, sickles, pickaxes
Axes and hoes
He walks bent a little to
The front at the waist
I follow him
Soaked with sweat
We finish tilling the small
Piece of land
My mother waits for us
Sitting at the door
She smiles at me
As I wash my feet at the stairs
Sitting around the lamp
We eat the rice gruel
With chili and onion
And hope that this year
Monsoon will arrive in time
And we have nice crops
And we don't have to borrow
Money to buy clothes for us