Another evening passes by as our Sun melts away
I gaze at him with eager eye, see what he has to say
He says I burn so you can live a long and happy life
But then, I burn like you, I say.. Its just a different fight.
I fight with sun and rain and wind, to grow a harvest green
But struggle to share it with my own, who want not fresh but clean
I trade with men who weigh and pay, account for every cost,
And yet their market quotes no rate, for sweat nor youth I lost.
They tell me I don’t know a thing, cant grow my product right
Yet offer paper made from trees I’d sown, when they weren’t so bright.
They teach me how to sow and reap, from lofty urban heights
While wondering in their Supermarts, Is this Sesame or Rye?
I wonder if they’ll ever know, the cost of this pretense
That those who think of them as masters, are doomed to meet their end.
And like the bee that knows so well the worth of every rose
I hope one day we live on earth as friends instead of foes.
As now the mighty Sun has set, its time for me to go
We both have our own roles to play, you reap just what you sow
I bid farewell and fix my gaze into the starry night..
Come dawn, I’ll burn just like the sun, its just a different fight.
Dedicated to the Indian Farmer
By - Harish Trivedi
