Under The Scorching Sun! Poem by Abnish Singh Chauhan

Walls remains tinted with
Advertising leaflets
We always see
Passing through the lane
Enhancing curiosity
Craving for some things
But purse allows us not.


What we earn, goes as it comes
For arranging daal-bhat
Or sometimes for the medical cure
Ever rising prices of things
Like the mouth of Sursa
An onion more pungent than a chili
Makes our eyes flow with tears.


Our mutual efforts couldn’t save
Food and water for the coming days
We get what we produce in the fields-
One third of our total labour
Under the scorching sun
When added cost reduced the profit
We fail to recover.

The rhetoric on the stage
Hides all the misdeeds
Of the so-called greats
The bird was hungry, still hungry
Fun and frolic for those
Who know how to make money
By means fair and foul.