Majhi
His village
is
a plantation
of privations,
where
a variety of
sorrows grow.
Love
like corn
lives
within
a pale cover.
Pain
is buried
in the furrow
of misery.
Moneyless Majhi
plods miles
with
his stiff spouse
on his shoulder.
Here
to live
is to burn
like dried cow dung.
First printed in The Literary Hatchet
Copyright © Fabiyas M V | Year Posted 2019
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