Smallholder(Poem)

The son of the soil
and
The daughter of the sickle
placed the bet
on the slaughtered lands
on the mercurial monsoons
and
on the sleepy seeds.

Pack of pests
patiently waiting
to prey on the pain.

The rhythm of debts
The tunes of prices
play a sad melody of suicides.

Meanwhile, the cows
cry in the clutches
of corporates and
the Goblin of globalization.

Adding to the ironies,
the past sins of man
come to the farm
in the form
of cyclones, droughts
to make late memories
and bleach the
colors of cracked earth.

—Drunken Monk.


Published by

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s