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
colours of cracked earth.

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