My land so fallow
my heart so hollow
every year I look up
to find clouds,
come which never would
and then I turn around
to see
seeds I sowed
weeds I mowed
mouths I created
hopes I shattered
I have reached my limit
with the end of my wit
I have killed my desire
pushing my life to prespire
But not a tinge of green
not a drop of growth
not a drop of water
not a hope of life
Cant see the pain
my only bequeath
Cant feed my family
my only owning fully
I plan to die
to kill the rent
Before that,
I plan to cry
my one last try
So,I stretch my vocals
to curse the gods
But words too now
have just gone fallow
My land so fallow
my heart so hollow
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A sad state of a farmer,who even after putting all his efforts can only plan the way of his death.
He is still thinking,better to die before the natural death,considering a suicide,being free from the landlord's rents,misery.Plotting to die so that he would not have to see himself and his family dying every single day because of the lack of food and life.Or rather waiting a little more to reach his natural death slowly
while death eats him.
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Sadly,still a large part of Indian farming is at the mercy of the eccentric erratic rains.