The Farmer’s Call

Knotted veins and turbaned hair define me.

Sharp horns, sharp sickle and a bent back look alike.

Fertilizer, insecticide or seed spreading

In the furrowed land,

Always with the sun in my eyes,

bird-watching only at night;

You may view my punctured toes,

Cracked heals and torn rubber slippers;

The land I work into a green field,

Though mortgaged in fear, never complains.

She gives me year after year

Her wealth for distribution.

I may swallow a serpent and not vent my spleen,

The lowing cattle may rattle up my night’s sleep,

I may have a confused

Understanding of sowing and uprooting,

But my wealth exceeds yours;

I reap not for a family but a country.


Published in Culture and Quest, December 2019.