Neither marble floor nor chandeliered ceiling,
A fist bundled with dreams resting because no one cares,
The other strengthened, unrecognized while it continues to hold the responsibility,
And still, materialistic absence or presence doesn’t control him.
Nothing overpowers his love for the soil,
The soil that he ploughs when the summer sun shines without any mercy,
When the winter mist gets to hug your bones,
All when you relax back in your cold in summer and warm in winter cubicles.
Nothing overpowers his love for the seeds he sows,
For he has seen them become infants,
From infants to adults, he has seen them drink up the rain,
And prayed whenever they had to suffer thirst.
Nothing overpowers his love for the soil that feeds a billion bellies,
Not until the debt drives him to death,
When his hard work is put under the deepest shadows,
When they pour their politics over his generosity.
Nothing stops him from continuing,
Nothing until he sees venom being served topped with a particle of sugar,
All when he sees his rulers act blindfolded,
Forgetting that we owe him.