Saturday 17 March 2018

THE FARMERS MARCHED

THE FARMERS MARCHED


Last week, India woke up to something spectacular. A huge, peaceful rally of the poorest farmers, marching all the way from Nashik to Mumbai to make their demands heard. The march itself was special, because it included zero violence, zero breaking of public property, much to the chagrin of the Opposition.
Here is my small effort to paint the happenings of that day in the form of a poem..


"In the heat of March,
The farmers marched,
The fire in their hungry belly burning,
The anger in their eyes raging..
Yet they marched with poise and grace,
Silently, to not disturb the human race..

The farmers marched..

The city woke up to their silent steps,
Aghast and in wonder..
Red they wore,
Red they carried..
Feet bled
And flags fluttered..

The dirty politics had found a new colour..
In the dirt and blood that covered their feet,
Alas.. The sweat had been conveniently forgotten..

But behold.
The red on the streets that flowed was real,
The red in the air that fluttered was unreal...

In between the two reds,
We forgot to read,
Which red mattered and which did not..

For a day, the city turned red,
Woke from their bed,
Out of guilt and compassion,
Offered to the hungry farmers a morsel of bread..
The bread, made from the wheat
Had been irrigated with the farmer's sweat..

The authority offered then a rose,
And once again in the red beauty of the rose,
The thorns were forgotten..

For a day, the city turned red.
And then they all went to bed..
As though nothing had ever happened..
Well, on most nights they did the same anyway..

The farmers marched.
Back to their fields parched..
The media smiled..
The politicians smirked.
And the irony laughed.."


~ Devashish Palkar

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