Leaning against the banyan I sat
And through my rage the monsoon wind racked.
The pain in my eyes and the hunger within
Were all flown aside by the green serene.
Every evening while the sun was asleep
I prayed, to make the clouds weep.
Every morning before the sun rose.
I ran to see if they had grown.
Every seed like a golden bead
Made my Pa forget his need.
My Pa's brow with sweat and tear
Became clear when the harvest was near.
I ran and sang with the paddy's glee
And watched the sickle dance for me.
The paddy sacked and carried over the lea
Made me dream of sugar and ghee
I bid adieu to the paddy all
And awaited dear Pa's cheery call
I awaited my Pa's return
From a land he proudly called Urban.
He promised to come
Before the sun hid behind the hill
He promised to come
And then we'd eat to our heart's fill.
But now, the sun has gone off to sleep
And the moon from his bed did creep
I could hear the trick leaves rustle,
But where was my Pa's whistle?
My stomach gnawed and my eyes ached
Oh…but not a single grain in my plate.
My eyes then through the tears could read
A huge wheeler coming at full speed.
T'was sure filled with sacks of grain
Brought from a land rich and vain
Down the rusty road it made a stop
Near the local merchant's grocery shop.
The merchant began to scream and shout
He praised the foreign crop aloud.
The villagers flocked to buy, in line
For the price was less, the price was fine.
The village farmers sighed and cried,
For their crop price fell and dried.
No one bought their grain; all hopes in vain
Their dreams were shattered, their eyes in pain.
I waited long; my Pa didn't arrive.
I heard some men come, seemingly naïve
And saw them place something on the floor.
I stood meekly aghast beside the door.
I asked if my Pa had sent it for me
But they didn't show any sign of glee.
I rushed and threw my gift open
And found my Pa cold…dead
Savie Karnel , 28 years,
Journalist and freelance Content Writer , Bangalore
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