The Farmers of India
The fields lie barren
The cultivated produce
Lay in vain
Our families are in pain
With pangs of hunger
In their veins
Tied to our debts
No takers for us
In markets
there is scarcity
In our houses,
There is poverty
Some fast for glory
Some fast for a cause
Some fast for their
Near and dear
We do not fast
Yet we suffer
Our stomachs are empty
No one to bother
You may call us cowards
We do not mind
We will end our lives
Can’t live without self-pride
Do not ever desire
To be born again
As a farmer
We can’t live the pain
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