Peasants

                  Peasants – Not  a  satire  but  a  good  label                      

At  home peasants  eat porridge in the morn,

 With till on  their  neck, and sickle in the hand

 Go  to  the  fields, the  poor lady or daughter

 Brings curd rice with pickle for the lunch.

 The  peasants  are not  peanuts.

Sweat on their  forehead   brings tillage   

 A name of   vintage .This  class, this

 Inevitable  backbone ,this heartbeat

 Is  the pride  of  nation. They  sow  the seeds,

 They own the country, reap the  harvest,

Look up to the  Heavens, monsoon and rain

Should not fail  the crops.

 Then, Reap  the bonanza,they own the country.