Over the leas and barren soil,
My hands do witness grave turmoil.
From the early rays of the morning sun,
Each grain of soil brings me fun.
I plow those fields to bring out food,
But my life is dull and crude.
I don't speak for lavish care,
But at least my staple share.
My hungry soul do shiver in pain,
When my dry lands crave for rain.
Thirsty crops don't have a choice,
To seek justice in a dauntless voice.
The little water from sandy streams,
Sprinkle drops on broken dreams.
Helpless hunger stabs each day,
I am a farmer, no voice to say.
I seek loans to feed my blood,
When my crops get drained in flood.
I starve for days and groan in pain,
My hungry children run insane.
When I fail to pay those loans,
Tired in agony drenched in groans,
They hunt for me, my wretched soul,
And throw me out like a broken bowl.
Brooks of sweat and crumbled soul,
We are farmers with no goal.
We sleep dirty, eat-in dust,
We wear filthy clothes in rust.
Helpless farmers all like me,
Jump inside the waves of the sea.
To end this life, this worthless birth,
And in tears, we leave the earth.